Faded Existence: Invasion
by Tears of Deathwishxxx
Summary: No one thought it would ever happen. They thought no one would dare to try to invade us. But you know what those guys streaking through the sky are thinking? Screw the United States.
1. Chapter 1

**I just want people to know that after watching a walkthrough of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2, that game scared the shit out of me- seeing as some shit like that might happen the way America sticks its nose into the business of other countries. Anyway, after watching the video: I decided to do something based on that. Pay attention.

* * *

**

5:45 PM EST:

CNN reports a sighting of unidentified planes entering United States airspace from the East Coast.

5:54 PM EST:

CNN reports unidentified submarines and ships entering U.S. territorial waters from the East Coast.

6:06 PM EST:

CNN reports explosions in West Virginia.

6:12 PM EST

The President of the United States is evacuated after giving the order to shoot down these bogeys.

6:22 PM EST

The HSAS is raised to Red Alert. Civilians are evacuated as attacks by this unidentified force increase.

6:33 PM EST

A joint unit consisting of the 75th Rangers and Army USSOCOM is deployed.

4:56 PM PST

Damijin Spade, the Snypa, prepares himself in the confines of his armory.


	2. Chapter 2

**5:00 PM PST**

Damijin Spade turned his television off and quickly ran down to his armory, grabbing his tactical fatigues. He grabbed a secure, untraceable cell phone and dialed a number.

"Tyrone."

"Ty, have a chopper ready to go in 20," said Spade.

"You got it, D."

"And do me a favor: don't tell Torro. I can't be worryin' about him right now."

"Consider it done. Anyway, D- got some intel on these new players come overseas."

"Who are they?" asked Spade. "Gotta be someone who hates us."

"It's a terrorist group called the Sword of God. Extreme right-wing."

"Where they hailin' from?"

Tyrone: "I'm getting to that. They represent damn near every part of the Middle East. They hold all the cards to the "holy wars" waged by Muslim extremist groups. The Muslim extremists that are battling each other on an everyday basis: they fund both sides of the gun, and they assimilate the winners into their group."

Spade: "Really? Let me guess: those Somalian pirates I saw while serving in the Corps, funded by these guys?"

Tyrone: "Yep."

Spade: "Gimme some numbers."

Tyrone: "Right now, all I see are planes and choppers, so there has to be a carrier."

Spade: "The moment infantry touches down, let me know. I need targets."

Tyrone: "Spade?"

Spade: "Yeah."

Tyrone: "Your chopper'll be fueled and fully loaded."

Spade: "Thanks."

And he hung up, getting dressed for the occasion. Once dressed, Spade opened a locker filled with submachine guns. He grabbed his favorite and most reliable out of any SMG, the HK-MP5 and two extra magazines.

Spade moved over to another locker, opening it to grab a pair of Ruger SR9s before holstering them.

As he walked out of his armory ready to battle, Damijin Spade buckled his belt with extra ammunition and grenades and headed to the roof, where a fully-loaded black Super Cobra had touched down.

Spade looked inside the cockpit.

Tyrone: "Come on!"

Spade hurried and got inside the chopper and closed the sli, putting on his headset.

Spade: "You chose wisely."

Tyrone: "She was stolen by these pricks. They're using our own shit against us."

Spade: "You're not a fighter. How'd you get ahold of her?"

Tyrone: "I slit some fucking throats while this bird was landed and the two guys inside opened fire on a grocery store. I couldn't save the people inside, but I put two on the board for our side."

Spade: "Who's joining us for this fight?"

Tyrone: "I'd like to present you with _this_."

Spade was handed a file.

"My contact gave that to me. Hey, this is on a grander scale than anything, Spade. So..."

"The usual method of cracking skulls to get information won't work. But if our run-of-the-mill punks don't know shit, then..."

"You guessed it," Tyrone replied. "You're gonna have to break the richer elements of crime."

Spade: "The Mafia?"

Tyrone: "Exactly."

Spade: "I doubt they have a hand in this, but I'm sure they know something. Anyway, what's this?"

Tyrone: "Open it."

Spade opened the file.

"So, The 75th and the Berets weren't deployed," said Spade. "It's some special unit that we don't know about."

Tyrone: "They've never been mentioned in the media before, because anyone who gets too close gets killed. My contact works in the Pentagon, tells me what I need to know for the war on the streets. Anyway, the unit is called Black Mist. Lord knows where their name comes from, but they're a joint unit from all the armed branches. They're here to do the things "SOCOM isn't mentally prepared for." Basically, the events of this invasion will be atrocious..."

Spade: "And these guys...the atrocity needed to beat it back."

And Spade was about to remain silent until he looked over at Tyrone.

"Ty..."

Tyrone looked over at Spade.

"Get out."

Tyrone: "Dami--"

Spade raised his SR9 to his weaponsmith's face.

"Get...the fuck out."

And Tyrone exited the chopper.

"T...sorry, dude. But I'm not gonna let your death be on my conscience, too. And give Torrance the keys to the armory. He can handle what's left here."

Spade lifted off and headed for the chopper's coordinates.

It was the place where the subject of American and terrorism had been brought up:

New York City.

No way would another terrorist attack ever happen on American soil again. These motherfuckers, whoever they were, were going to see firsthand how many Hells that war can inflict.


	3. Chapter 3

**1:30 AM EST**

Damijin Spade was still in the air, just moments away from his destination. He put his finger to his ear.

"You're my eyes, right?"

"I can see what you're seeing clear as day, D. But I wanted to go--"

Spade: "No. Ty, I understand that you were unable to save the lives taken by the assholes who stole this chopper, but someone like you, a guy who's never seen the field of battle- you could never withstand the pain that comes with killing."

Tyrone: "But Da--"

Spade: "No buts. My first kill as a Marine: it tore me up inside at first. Because they were human beings, just like us. What made them any different that they had to die, other than kill or be killed? That was the question I kept asking myself each time I pulled the trigger. Each time my hand moved with my knife. Each pin I pulled I pulled off of a grenade. That's how I used to feel during my time in the Corps. But I saw something I'll never forget. And it was then I realized those bastards _needed_ to have the life snuffed out of them."

Tyrone: "What happened, Damijin?"

Spade: "While my fireteam was on assignment, I saw it. I heard about it, but I never saw it with my own two eyes until then. People, being sold like products. Fucking human trafficking. And you'd never guess the irony of this shit: my own fuckin' commanding officer was the fuckin' ringleader. We met him and another fireteam that was part of our squad under his command at the center of this building we had taken. He had his weapon pointed at his stand-in, who acted as if he knew him. Then when we came in, he shot the guy down."

Tyrone: "Did you...kill him? Did you arrest him?"

Spade: "His explanation was because he grew up with nothing. He had a 'hard life,' he said. A hard life is training in the art of ninpou just to survive in the house of your foster family. I gave him so many definitions of a hard life. I just laughed and laughed...until I pulled the fuckin' trigger and blew his goddamn knees from under his body! Son of a bitch! He was an American, just like me. And he plays the role of Benedict Arnold: breaking up families, subjecting fucking kids to being humiliated and reduced to being slaves for possibly some rich pedo who needs to be dickless and rotting in a fucking jail cell rather than sitting on piles of Benjamin Franklin notes."

Tyrone: "Wow, that's...that's fucking crazy."

Spade: "Crazy isn't the word, Tyrone. I could never report him because there's no way the higher-ups would believe the word of a rookie Captain over a three-star General. Plus, I'd be dead right now. Of course, when I shot that bastard of a Lieutenant General- his men fuckin' perforated me."

Tyrone: "So, what happened to him?"

Spade: "In the end, we lived. We set those potential slaves free. They went back to their lives, but they were never the same again."

Tyrone: "And the Lieutenant General?"

Spade: "Executed on sight. By my rifle. I never included it in my report, but eventually someone found his body. Said he was KIA. It was never brought up again. But that's enough about the past. Anyway, I've made it to New York. I just need to check the coordinates. Okay, set. You'd never believe where they're going to strike..."

Tyrone: "Yankee Stadium?"

Spade: "Yes."

Tyrone: "Blow those fuckers out of the sky!"

Spade: "I take it you're a Yankees fan, Ty."

Tyrone: "_Yes, I am._ And there ain't no way a bunch of fake-ass Muslims are gonna ruin America's favorite pastime because they wanna prove they're bad! _No one_ fucks with my Pinstripes or the House That Jeter Built _and lives_. Kill every single one of their asses, Damijin!"

Spade: "You got it."

And Spade pushed the gunship to max speed, 190 knots in order to get to Yankee Stadium in time. And that's when he saw them.

Three helos wreaking havoc on the Bronx.

Spade: "Contact. 12:00."

And Spade let loose with the M197 gatling cannon, the three barrels rotating rapidly as the machine gun fired at the three enemy birds that were causing trouble. The choppers broke formation and headed toward Spade, one of them unleashing a Sidewinder. Spade countered with more cannon fire, knowing the dangers of heat-seekers. The other two birds returned fire with mounted miniguns. Spade weaved the helicopter, using its maneuverability to avoid any damage while firing Hydras.

Direct hit. Spade blew the rotors off of the first helo, sending it down like a stone. He received a transmission.

Arabic.

Spade shrugged and flipped a switch with a red button. He pressed it.

Two Hellfires launched and weaved in a helix motion until it connected with the second bird, sending it up in an aerial ball of fire. He could hear the dying screams through the audio feed as he watched a piece of the destroyed attack chopper connect with the last helo's cockpit, but that bird was going down.

Hard.

Luckily, over that area, no one was inside Yankee Stadium at this time of night.

Tyrone: "Did you get 'em?"

Spade: "Absolutely."

Tyrone: "Good job, my man."

Spade: "Ty, I gotta land. I need to find that Pentagon-funded company you mention--"

And just then, Spade was under automatic fire as well. He turned the chopper around. And a Stinger was lined up in his path.

_Oh, no..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: You'll have to forgive me, STONE. But the opportunity to use him was too great to pass up.**

* * *

The Stinger missile was coming in quick and Spade had to do something or his part in driving back this invading force would be all for nothing. By the time he'd be able to turn around to blow the heat-seeker out of the sky, it would be too late.

_Remain calm..._

Suddenly, his eyes rested on a small black pistol.

_A flare gun? Better than nothing..._

So Spade held his breath and opened the chopper's hatch, pointing the flare gun straight ahead and fired. He piloted the gunship straight down as the Stinger flew past, following the path of the flare.

"Narrowly avoided a crisis."

The chopper behind him followed, firing hard. Then an explosion boomed from behind him. And he heard rotors behind him. Then there was a voice.

"Damijin Spade. It is an honor to see you again."

Spade replied.

"Luther?"

"In the flesh. Let's land and we'll catch up."

* * *

**Back in Los Angeles, Alley:**

Consigliere of the Forello family, Robert Forello (bastard son of the late Frank Forello)- was wiping the heroin from his nose as he paced around and waited.

_Where are these fuckers, dude?_

Robert looked over at his men and scowled as two SUVs pulled up. Out of them filed a total of seven Korean men and a mulatto gentleman, all in black suits. They all formed a row, walking toward the center of the alley. The mulatto stepped forward with a duffel bag. Robert, accompanied by one of the Forello soldiers came forward with a silver briefcase.

Robert: "I see you made it. Do you have the money?"

"That depends if you have the products."

Robert: "A smartass. But nonethless, yes. I do. You will not regret buying from my employer. He provides top-quality material."

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Robert: "But first, let's see the money."

The Koreans reached inside of their suits.

Robert: "Whoa, be easy! We're not gonna rob you!"

The mulatto looked at them.

"Chill."

Then he turned back to Robert, opening the duffel bag.

"That's seven and a half right there. And the other half comes when we get our stuff."

Robert: "Fair enough, good sir. Tommy, the stuff."

The soldier opened up the briefcase, revealing pure heroin.

Robert: "Where are you guys from, anyway?"

"That is irrelevant," the man said, as two of the Koreans stepped forward. "Now, let's resume business."

Robert: "Just trying to be friendly."

The soldier and the mulatto exchanged packages. Once the drugs were in his hands, the mulatto man handed the bags to his boys as he headed back to the truck.

Robert: "Hey, where you going?"

"To personally get the other half of the money."

What either side didn't realize is that this gentleman wasn't playing for either team. He was in his own league. So when he opened the back door of one of the SUVs, The duffel bag filled with the 7.5 mil suddenly combusted and wiped out almost everyone in vicinity.

The Koreans looked at each other, startled. They didn't know what to do. But when their "boss" for the night returned, he looked different. His aura seemed strange. And he was armed with a Armsel Strike 12-gauge, also known as a Street Sweeper.

"Sorry about that, boys. These guys tried to deceive you. Those drugs were about as real as tentacle hentai, not to mention the briefcase was also a tracking device."

Robert Forello struggled to his feet, one arm short.

"You...bastard. How did you figure that out?"

"Because...I designed the damn thing. Just ask your boy Tommy over there."

The mullato pointed over to the splattered carcass of the soldato, who was revealed to have on a wire.

Robert: "You--you're a cop!"

"Wrong. And one more thing."

He turned to the Koreans and said something in Korean.

_"Can you open that, just to back me up?_"

The Korean men nodded and opened the briefcase.

"If you're not--oh, my God! You're..." Robert screamed.

The mulatto removed his sunglasses. To the Koreans, his eyes had been green. But they were pure brown now...

"Motherfucker!" Robert yelled. "You're--"

And he raised a nine-millimeter Glock 26 at the same time Heartbreak unleashed a shell into his midsection, sending him backward. He turned to the Korean gangsters.

"There's one more thing about the briefcase, guys..."

Torrance Spade raised the Street Sweeper up and fired at the briefcase, watching it engulf the thugs in a taste of what Hell had waiting for them. That's when he turned back to Robert Forello, who had ran to his car despite the buckshot in his stomach. As the consigliere tried to start up the vehicle, Torrance grabbed a pipe bomb lent to him from a fallen gangster and set the timer.

Ten seconds.

He threw the IED under the car and turned around, walking away as the death of another one of Frank Forello's relative was impending. Torrance had just left the alley as he heard the explosion...

* * *

_**Patience...everything will come together...**_


	5. Chapter 5

**Miami, Florida:**

Sword of God soldiers were running rampant, BTRs shooting everything in sight. The smell of death and carnage pervaded the air. Infantry armed with AK-103s sprayed the city, hitting anything that moved.

Miami Police weren't sufficiently equipped to deal with such a threat, as their Glocks and Remingtons couldn't penetrate the high level of army these men were wearing, so Miami SWAT was called in, better armed but still not enough. Among them was Senior U.S. Marshal Thomas Crawford and his junior partner Roy Rustle, son of his late best friend and FBI Agent William Rustle.

* * *

Roy was 19 when he lost his father, who was kidnapped and tortured to death by a criminal organization. So, with three years of experience in the field- Roy is infamous for single-handedly crashing a Triad drug deal carrying two firearms: the semi-automatic .45 HK-SOCOM in honor of Crawford; and a Smith & Wesson Model 625: a .45 Colt-chambered, five-inch barrel revolver from his father's personal collection.

And so, Roy decided to take on the task his father had assisted Crawford with: bring the vigilante Damijin Spade to justice. With youth on his side, he was assigned the task of collaring his god-brother: Heartbreak.

* * *

Roy and Crawford were in full tactical gear, armed with M4A1 Carbines set to full auto and firing at anything that screamed "enemy", an armored Hummer as their cover. AK fire pounded the SUV mercilessly.

One of the soldiers turned his attention to the Marshals, his finger on the trigger of the GP-30 grenade launcher attachment. Roy fired under the Hummer at the soldier's kneecaps just as he pulled the trigger on the grenade launcher, sending the projectile skyward and hitting a Mickey D's sign.

And just as these men of the Sword of God were moving deeper into the heart of the city, a black van sped toward one of the BRTs. The van disappeared in a massive fireball, taking the BRT with it as shrapnel struck as many thugs as possible, screams ravaging the night.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Crawford and Roy pumped lead into uncovered areas of the Sword of God soldiers. As Crawford and Roy unleashed their weapons into enemy flesh, they noticed nuzzles flashes coming from the shadows from behind the BRT, rapid-firing bullets hitting their marks.

Then, to Crawford, it seemed as if these muzzle flashes seemed to be moving out of the shadow as a figure in a hooded robe stepped out. The unknown discarded the empty weapons and removed the robe.

Crawford recognized her at once.

"Rose!"

Exactly seventeen years had gone by since Thomas Crawford had last seen his daughter, now 35 and her green eyes filled with veteran-level sights of war. And for an instant, the Black Rose locked eyes with her father and Roy, before she reached under her robe for twin _wakizashi_ as she let out a furious scream and headed in what turned from a sprint to a full run toward a fireteam focused on an apartment complex.

The "soldiers" didn't know what hit them, as Rose ran past one before leaping onto another and driving her blades into his heart. She flipped off of him, grabbing hold of the third man and quickly twisting his neck until she heard the bones snap. The fourth man's eyes widened as he pulled the trigger on his AK-103, but to only hear clicks. Rose started toward him as he went for his sidearm, only to catch a _hira shuriken_ to the right shoulder.

Rose smiled before she utilized two of her fingers to drive into the poor soldier's throat.

That only left the first man, who fired his assault rifle wildly to no avail. Once maxed out, he scurried to reload another magazine into his weapon just as Rose pulled a _tanto_ from under her robe. When the soldier couldn't slide the clip into the weapon, he discarded it in favor of a KA-BAR knife and charged forward.

Spotting an opening, Rose sidestepped his finishing stab attempt and swung her shortsword into a successful backhanded decapitation. She then laid eyes on her father and his partner before taking off.

"Rose!" Crawford called out to her.

Rose stopped, turning to him as her eyes narrowed.

"Crawford. Come to take me in?"

"No," Crawford replied. "The opposite. Temporarily, I'm not going to be on your trail. But when this is all over, you tell Spade that I'm coming for him."

"You've been after Dami for 17 years, _Dad_," Rose sneered. "And each time you've managed to catch him, you can't keep him locked up. So, have fun."

* * *

**New Yankee Stadium:**

Spade and the Sentencer, Luther Jones were finally on the ground. Luther took a look at the man before him. The last they had seen each other was a sparring session that got out of control and ended in a draw.

Spade had taken the fight to the big man that day, but that was years ago. The features of age on their faces told a tale of years spent at war.

Spade handed Jones the file that Tyrone had given him on the Black Mist unit.

"Luther, do you know anything about these guys?" Spade asked.

Jones nodded.

"They're ex-SOCOM, some are from Delta. The common factor is that most are convicts on death row or lifers."

"What kind of convicts we talkin', Luther?" Spade asked.

"They're of the worst breed, D-man. Killers, rapists, robbers, general scum. Court-martialed soldiers," said Tyrone from Spade's earpiece.

"Psychopaths killing psychopaths," remarked Spade. "Only our government can think of some sick shit like this."

"Criminals make the perfect soldiers, Damijin," replied Tyrone. "Stone cold killers, easy to train. _And_ they're expendable."

"Let me guess, the promise of freedom?"

"Correct-a-mundo. Now you have a new problem."

"And that's whether or not we run interference. This is going to be a paradox."


	6. Chapter 6

**Upstate New York:**

Sword of God soldiers were holed up in a police station, firing at the Black Mist soldiers that had been sent out. This special unit of criminals performing mandatory military service had taken cover behind armored vehicles and were bombarding the enemy with M-203 and AG36 launchers.

* * *

The American government had taken on a new program across the nation. Death rowers and lifers were condemned to death anyway, whether it be by the needle or in their cells, so why not make a good use for them as useful but expendable soldiers?

* * *

The constant pounding of grenades seemed to make these terrorists angrier. They continued to rain down automatic gunfire until a pair of rockets collided with the brick building, sending bodies flying out of the broken windows. When the Black Mist unit turned around, they noticed two black men that differed in terms of size holding Light Anti-Tank Weapons.

Both were instantly recognized.

The Sentencer and the Snypa.

Spade looked over at the big man, who simply nodded, before discarding the LAW cannon and grabbing an AA-12 from under his trenchcoat. Spade's round of choice for this particular shotgun was the 12 gauge Frag-12 HEAP (high-explosive & armor-piercing), 32 of them in a drum cartridge. The Atchisson Assault in itself was unique because of its long-range lethality, something unheard of in a shotgun.

The Snypa charged toward the entrance of the abandoned police station, meeting two Sword of God gangsters armed with an AK-103. Before they had a chance to get their shots off, they evaporated in an explosion of bone, organs, and blood. Spade took a flashbang grenade from his belt and removed the pin, holding the safety lever with a death grip before giving it an underhand toss into a hallway on the left. When he saw the flash of light, he approached the disoriented soldiers and hit them with hard HE shells as he watched them disintegrate into nothing but pieces of bloody meat.

There was one who survived the onslaught, but lost his right arm at the elbow and was bleeding profusely from the stub. Spade put his shotgun away and unfolded a Viper knife he retrieved from his leather trenchcoat. He jabbed the blade into the flesh of the bloody stub, which was met with a shrill of pain.

"Hey, hey..." said Spade, almost friendly-like as he slapped the guy across the face a few times.

He was met with spit in his face, so he forced the knife in deeper.

"From the looks of your badges, I'd say you're in charge of this little unit that I just decimated. So do me a favor and tell me one thing: why are you here?"

"You get nothing from me, infidel!"

Spade turned the handle of the knife upward, forming a neat wedge in the thug's arm.

"Wanna talk now?"

"Never! I will never tell you anything!"

And Spade drove the knife up even further. If this soldier/jihadist/gangster didn't talk, his arm was going to be cut in two. Eventually the pain became too great.

"Conquest! Your godless, vagabond-filled country belongs to _Saifuallah! Allahu Akbar_!"

Spade withdrew the blade.

"Well, you can see what Allah has to say about that up close and personal now," whispered Spade, before sticking the knife straight into the guy's Adam's apple.

The thug gurgled and choked for a few moments, then it was all over.

* * *

Luther Jones stood faced with the Black Mist fireteam he and Spade just helped, his 5.56 M4A1 trained on their commanding officer.

"Now, Mr. Jones," said Captain Tracy Davidson. "It's five-on-one. And we're all on the same page, so why don't we just all calm down?"

Jones remained silent, his trigger finger itching.

"From that look on your face, I take it you have realized the truth behind the Black Mist program."

"Yes, I have. The men you are currently leading are criminals meant to be executed."

"And they have been pardoned by the United States government, so long as they remain dutiful to their service."

The Sentencer held his weapon tightly as Davidson spoke, moving slowly toward him and putting away his sidearm.

"We're here because the Department of Defense felt as spec ops would not be able to handle the severity of the situation and--"

"Fuck this, let's just waste this asshole!"

Jones saw movement and instantly deposited 5.56 AP depleted-uranium rounds into a pair of chests. The other two soldiers saw their world disappear in flashes of red as their brains exploded from out of their skills.

That left Davidson by himself, still facing down the Carbine of the Sentencer.

"I can see it in your eyes. You're not scum. But if I'm wrong...."

Jones walked past the Captain, into the building where Spade was...

* * *

**Back in LA:**

Torrance had just gotten wind of the invasion that had just taken place, but he needed more information to go on. The news reported this invading force as a terrorist group known as the Sword of God, but he would need detail. Media detail revealed that they were a Middle Eastern force, so he needed someone who had all the cards on Middle East gangsters.

So he decided to pay a visit to Tomallah, a local kingpin. This South African was the usual piece of shit: drug dealer, dabbled in kiddie porn, had cops on his payroll, and murdered anyone who couldn't be bought.

His black field jacket flapping in the Los Angeles night wind, Torrance walked up to the entrance of the Pink Haze nightclub as he lowered his matching cowboy hat over his painted face and Hell Raiser contact eyes. He handed the door supervisor an ID, which was handed back to him with a grunt.

Torrance walked inside and looked around, heading to the dance floor. He opened his jacket, and looked down at his waist. Four extra magazines for his .50 Action Express Desert Eagle and a KM2000 combat knife.

In the pockets on Torrance's knees were _tanto-gata shuriken. _

And finally, the tricked-out steel jo staff he received from his father was holstered on his back. Though he was pretty skilled in firearms and knife-fighting, Torrance excelled as a stick fighter.

There were a lot of innocents in this club, so Torrance couldn't risk stray bullets catching unintended targets.

He looked around once more and saw Tomallah at a table surrounded by many Arabian and Pakistani women, pouring them glasses of wine. By the end of this night, these women would end up someone's playthings. Torrance also noticed the three tall and slender black men in gray suits guarding his personal table.

_Seems that guy was right._

_

* * *

_

Torrance's thought was referring to Elijah Moor, a now _ex_-street dealer for Tomallah's organization whose testicles he spent two hours giving electrotherapy to with a pair of jumper cables and a car battery in order to pinpoint Tomallah's location. His usefulness ended by being kicked in the deep end of a swimming pool, the jumper cables attached to both ends of the battery.

* * *

So Torrance would wait until Tomallah was alone.

And after ten minutes of knocking back shot after shot, Tomallah was headed to the men's room. Heartbreak followed slowly.

Once inside the bathroom, he unholstered the Eagle from his shoulder holster, pointing it at the bathroom attendant.

"Not a word."


	7. Chapter 7

_So Torrance would wait until Tomallah was alone._

_And after ten minutes of knocking back shot after shot, Tomallah was headed to the men's room. Heartbreak followed slowly._

_Once inside the bathroom, he unholstered the Eagle from his shoulder holster, pointing it at the bathroom attendant._

_"Not a word."_

_

* * *

_

The bathroom attendant nodded as Torrance glanced at Tomallah duck in the stall, listening to vomiting sounds follow. Silently counting down from three to one, he kicked open the door, only to be met with a flash of silver that caught him in the chest.

A blade. A swordstick.

The length of the cane drove him back into the wall as a face came into view.

Dark skin. Literally black eyes. Shaved bald head.

"So nice of you to join the party, Heartbreak. Kudos for coming to my favorite club, but you forgot my three guests. Boys..."

And three bodyguards of Tomallah's walked into the bathroom, cracking their knuckles. Their boss retrieved the blade and sheathed with the push of a button.

"Have fun, guys."

"Oh, we will be. But you're not going anywhere." said a new voice.

Tomallah felt two barrels at his back as the new guest came into view.

The bathroom attendant. White guy. Dark brown hair that came down to his shoulders. Green eyes. Thick goatee.

Benito Forello: "Didn't think you'd be so stupid, Torro. Of course, you're not exactly your dad."

Torrance: "Yeah, nice to see you too, Benito. You know, if you're gonna be an asshole in my jurisdiction, you could at least--"

And Torrance let loose a pair of throwing knives into one of the bodyguards. One in the heart, one in the gut.

Torrance: "Be of some use!"

Benito to Tomallah: "Don't go anywhere, pal."

Tomallah felt lightning strike the back of his knees as Benito fired twin nine millimeter Beretta M1951s at the second bodyguard, leaving a nice pair of exit wounds in the back of his skull. Torrance took down the last guy with a sidestep into the porcelain wall. followed by the combat knife into his kidney and turning the blade to leave a nice fatal wound.

Benito: "Cops'll show up anytime now! Let's get outta here!"

Torrance: "On it! Grab him!"

Benito hoisted the injured Tomallah on his shoulders as he and Torrance began their escape from the nightclub when the glass skylight shattered and three cables came down. On those three cables came three men, fully armored and armed with MP5 subguns.

LAPD SWAT.

Before one of the cops could get "Don't move!" out of his mouth, the officer in the middle surprised him with a spinning back kick into the stomach that knocked his helmet off. The "lawman" picked up the helmet and walloped him upside the head to render him unconscious.

The other cop sprung into action, only to be rushed by Torrance and put to sleep with a right hook to the temple once on the ground.

Benito looked at the lawman that was about to help them removed his helmet, revealing a black woman with cherry-red hair and pouty lips.

Tori: "You boys lookin' to get out of here?"

Torrance: "I thought we were fucked for a second."

Tori: "Torro, you lookin' to get intel on that shit happening on the East Coast?"

Torrance: "Yeah."

Benito: "Let's leave this piece of shit, we got someone more useful that can help."

Torrance: "Yeah? Well, then..."

Benito threw the drug dealer to the ground roughly, his legs still bleeding out. Torrance unholstered his Desert Eagle, turned off the safety, and ended Tomallah's hopes of wealth and power at the expense of the innocent forever.

* * *

**BOARD ROOM**

**UNDISCLOSED LOCATION**

Man 1: "Do you think that they will be achieve the unthinkable?"

Man 2: "Seriously? I think they could do it. I mean, conquering the United States of America would be the ultimate prize."

Man 3: "Those godless scoundrels, as the radicals call them, need to be purged."

Man 2: "I'm surprised that these guys trust us, considering we're supposed to be the infidels in their eyes."

Man 1: "Well, it's interesting what money can do. How about concentrating an attack on Baltimore?"

Man 3: "And I'll have the Black Mist there for a counterattack."

Man 2: "Good, get to it."


	8. Chapter 8

Rose had skinned a Sword of God soldier alive, revealing the intentions of this force. She was sure Dami was in the clusterfuck of it all, blowing away extremists left and right.

The Black Rose needed to rearm, so she headed back to one of her lover's safehouses. An abandoned warehouse. If unauthorized figures tried to access this little shack, the whole place would go up like a Roman candle. But that was Dami for you, tying up any loose end he could.

Rose looked over at a picture of her younger days with her family and with Rustle. Rustle had been a family friend. But that motherfucker...the bastard who dared to call himself her birth father, that damned Raphiel Borealo. She remembered finding Rustle's broken body, nearly all his blood drained. But he had been shocked to death, slowly.

The Maracellis made it regular to enjoy torture before killing their victims. Killing Raphiel with her own hands freed Rose of her dreadful past as Number Sixteen.

Rose set the picture down and went toward the door that lead into the basement. She made her way down the steps, hitting a light switch and enveloping the room in cherry red. Pressing a button on the wall revealed a secret door that slid back. Rose stepped into the room, the walls covered with various bladed weapons. There were also drawers as well.

She opened one, revealing different types of knives and daggers. She picked out a pair of six inch Japanese _tanto_ before opening the drawer below it and taking a small box out of it. Opening up to reveal pine-needle shaped pieces of metal. She took them, placing them into a compartment on her belt. And finally, Rose went to the wall, taking a mounted straight-edged katana from it and slinging it on her back.

She was ready to get back into the fight.

* * *

**UPSTATE NEW YORK:**

The Sentencer and the Snypa had managed to find sanctuary. Luckily, Spade kept safehouses across the country. And he and Jones managed to take refuge at an old subway station.

The two, after knocking a few helos out of the sky with a S.O.G BTR and gaining more intel, decided that it was time to rest. There would still be more scum to fight. And the Black Mist, despite being possibly reformed criminals, were more than enough to take these guys down while they rested.

Spade pulled his earpiece out of his trenchcoat that was draped across a table he got from the Salvation Army and placed it to his ear. A voice immediately replied.

Tyrone: "D, you okay?"

Spade: "I'm fine, Ty. I've got the Sentencer here with me. If anyone's a better tactical expert, it's definitely Luther Jones. Got anything new for me?"

Tyrone: "Yeah. My contact informed me of an incoming attack that took place in Orlando. I'm tapping into a satellite now to see what's going on..."

Spade waited as Tyrone worked his computer magic, before finally getting a response.

Tyrone: "I looked over the entire city. It's in ruins. Those bastards were hit pretty hard too, but there were..."

Spade didn't wait for Tyrone to finish his statement, but a look of anger washed over his face. Innocent people, perhaps even good cops who tried to stop the onslaught: their lives had been cut down.

Tyrone: "Wait, I see something. Let me zoom in. Yeah! It's a U.S. Marshal SUV!"

Spade: "Then that means that..."

Tyrone: "I gotta confirm something...let me see if I can tap in to any audio feed."

Jones: "Spade, I have a favor to ask of your gunsmith."

Spade looked up at the big man and nodded. He knew Jones had interpreted Tyrone confirm Crawford's status. And he spoke.

Spade: "Ty, do me a special favor. Can you track the whereabouts of the Sentencer Task Force, starting with its head?"

Tyrone: "Sam Keaton?"

Spade: "The one and only."

Tyrone: "On it."

A few minutes later, Tyrone replied.

Tyrone: "The group tasked with bring Mr. Jones to justice is fine. They're far away from this mess, in Los Angeles. Files say they're tracking down another vigilante or vigilantes who may or may not have connections with the Sentencer."

Spade: "Rose is gone, so that would only leave..."

Jones: "Your son. And his associates."

Spade: "Torrance can handle himself, Luther. More so if he's with Benito. But we gotta get southeast and see if we can get some leads on these bastards. But first, we need to prepare. Ty, how fast can you be here?"

Tyrone: "Give me until tomorrow. Until then, best of luck."

Spade severed the line and took the earpiece out of his ear before setting it on a table. He slowly removed the black shirt he had on, revealing the Level IV vest underneath. It had taken a serious pounding and bruised his ribs since this whole campaign started, but nothing was broken luckily.

* * *

**HYBRID SECONDARY HEADQUARTERS**

**LOS ANGELES**

Heartbreak, Benito, and Tori had made to an apartment complex the Hybrid called their field HQ. Well, the Hybrid owned the complex.

But their HQ was under the landlord's office. About a couple of miles underground. Torrance made himself right at home as he went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle from a six-pack of Mountain Dew.

Torro: "An old habit. I drink Dew after a fight."

He walked over to a computer where a white guy with hair long enough to make twisties was sitting at.

Damon Easton, the _sojutsu_ and computer geek extraordinaire.

Tori, one of the two _kunoichi_ of the group, as well as the _chouhou_ and _kayakujutsu_ specialist, made up one-half of the team's chef squad.

Damon extended his fist when he saw Torrance for the first time since the assault on the Numbers' compound.

Damon: "Torro Spade aka Master Heartbreaker. What's up, my nigga?"

Torrance cocked an eyebrow.

Torrance: "What'd you just say, white boy?"

Damon: "You're half-white, motherfucker. So what's the deal?"

Torrance bumped the wigger's fist with his own and smiled.

Torrance: "I can dig it."

Tori: "Valid point, Damon. Now stop acting black before it gets you in trouble with Gabe."

Damon: "Gabe? Tores, that fool about as black as a polar bear."

Tori: "I don't hear you complaining about his soul food cooking."

Damon: "Okay, so he got that. But really, other than that: I could swear that Gabriel was wearin' blackface."

Torrance, Benito, and Tori could only laugh as a compartment in the floor opened up and out crawled a dark-skinned muscular man with long flowing dark brown hair. In his hand was a copy of USA Today. Torrance watched as the guy crouched and swung his hand upward, connecting with the back of Damon's head with the newspaper. This made the computer geek jump up holding his head in pain. This forced the other three into fits of laughter.

Damon: "Motherfuckin'-ah, shit!"

Damon turned to his attacker.

"Gabe, you mother-"

Benito: "Damon!"

Gabe turned to his leader.

Benito: "Sit. Get back to work."

Damon: "But, Benito-"

"_Sit_ your wannabe ass down and get back to work, soldier. Don't make me repeat myself. Gabriel, kitchen. _Now_. It's almost time for dinner and everyone else should be getting back here soon..."


	9. Chapter 9

**ONE NIGHT LATER:**

Spade had spent a whole day practicing kata, visualizing targets around him. Now he and Jones were on a plane to Florida.

Tyrone had provided him with coordinates on where the Sword of God were holed up at.

Spade thanked his weaponsmith for the information and paid him his usual fee. Across from him on the large aircraft was the Sentencer, who seemed to be lost in deep thought.

Luther Jones was thinking of all the lives lost since those terrorists had decided to bring their fight to American soil. Hundreds of people he failed to protect. Hundreds he had let down.

But no more. It was his turn to go on the offensive. And he knew Spade felt the same way. In fact, he seemed to subconsciously view Spade as a long-lost brother.

* * *

Two men, who had experienced the same fate at different time periods in their lives.

Jones: his Uncle Marcus and his first love, Jamie- shot down in cold blood by loan sharks motivated by greed.

Spade: his two sons murdered for his sins as an officer of the law,

Their worlds taken from them, there was no path for these two men except the one leading toward Hell. Spade's teenage years was spent learning _ninpo_, the art of the ninja. He joined the Corps, and then LAPD when his service was done.

Jones went to the Army, more specifically: Delta Force.

* * *

And now, these two were going to bring hell to these radicals. To neither man, this wasn't a war. They were fighting terrorists, not soldiers.

* * *

**BOARD ROOM  
UNDISCLOSED LOCATION**

Man 1: "Bad news. A captain of a Black Mist fireteam just reported something big."

The second man, who was running a comb through his unkempt dirty blond hair, looked over at the first man.

"What?"

Man 1: "It seems the vigilantes have gotten involved."

Man 2: "Which vigilantes?"

Man 1: "We needn't worry for now. It's just the Snypa and the Sentencer."

Man 3, spitting out his coffee: "_Just _the Snypa and the Sentencer? JUST? You act like you're talking about two fucking ordinary men! Luther Jones and Damijin Spade have killed over thousands of drug dealers, street punks, and the like. They have brought down whole criminal empires by themselves. And if they've teamed up, we're gonna have more than _just a problem_, especially if they figure out the true motherfucking identity of the Black Mist unit, and I don't just mean that they are condemned criminals doing military service! So how about we don't fuckin' underestimate what they're capable of?"

Man 1: "Chill. Jones and Spade are more muscle than brain. They'll never figure out that the Black Mist and Sword of God are working together. Boss has made sure of that."

Man 3: "Wrong again. They're tacticians, which without such a skill, they wouldn't wage their wars. So, anyone have any idea where they are now?"

Man 2: "No."

Man 1: "Nope. They were last in New York."

* * *

**HYBRID HEADQUARTERS**

Torrance sat around reading a magazine about weapons while Gabe and Tori were preparing dinner and waiting for the other two members of the Hybrid to come. He accepted Benito's offer to stay, as it would give him access to a lot of things.

He was looking at an article about snipers when something caught his eye. His hand reached for his .50 hand cannon, the Desert Eagle, that was on his side. He stood up on the couch, drawing the large pistol and turning the safety off. Then his reflexes took control, diving forward and firing the massive weapon.

Thinking World War III had come, the four members of the Hybrid rushed to the living room area with firearms drawn as well.

Benito: "Torro? _What the fuck_ is going on?"

"It's just me, boss," said a Portugese accent from behind the couch.

And Benito went to inspect.

As he did, a chain came from behind the couch making a beeline for Torrance. Not one to be surprised, Heartbreak pulled the trigger once more, snapping the metal chain in half and making a nice hole in the couch about the size of a man's fist.

"Okay, okay. I give."

And a man, Brazilian with long light brown hair, stood up on the left of the massive hole in the couch. _Kusarigama_ wielder Ramon _(pronounced Ha-mon) _Leeds. He also favored powerful handguns as well.

"Just had to keep you on your feet, ol' big bad Heartbreak," Ramon said, running a finger over the blade of the _kusarigama_. "Boss says he has something he wants to ask you at dinner."

Torrance turned to Benito.

"Sorry, 'Nito. I can't marry you," Torrance said, sticking his tongue out. "I'm straight, remember?"

"Don't make me cut that little stick on your back in half, Torrance Spade."

"Lighten up, Benito," said a third voice with a Hawaiian accent.

And a woman with medium-toned skin, long black hair, and green eyes came from a set of stairs. The men in the room- their jaws dropped. She was _straight-up fucking naked_. The other _kunoichi_ of the Hybrid-_shurikenjutsu _and_ boryaku_ specialist Kanida Aiona. She passed up the male members of the Hybrid and walked straight up to Torrance.

Kanida: "It's been a long time, Mr. Heartbreak. I'm sure you live up to your name when you're out bedding women during your campaigns."

Torrance was lost for words. This young woman was so close to him, wrapping one of her legs around the back of his right one so that his thigh was between her legs. He looked past her and saw driplets on the carpet of the stairs.

Torro: "Y-you've been busy, I see."

Kanida stood up on her toes, putting her mouth to his ear.

"I think about you a lot," she whispered.

Torro: "I-I'm sure you do."

Kanida took hold of Heartbreak's hands and smiled before placing them on her breasts.

Kanida smiled before whispering in his ear once more, grinding against his thigh.

"Touch me. You know you want to. Unless, of course, that bulge in your pants says I'm lying."

Torrance looked back over at Benito and the others, who were practically trying to force themselves not to laugh. He then turned back to Kanida and thumbed her thick and dark nipples reluctantly, eliciting a small sigh before Torrance let her go.

Benito: "Kanida. That's enough. Go put some clothes on. _Now_."

The swordmaster of the Hybrid went over to his friend and handed him a handkerchief, but not before the kunoichi winked at Heartbreak.

Kanida: "See you at dinner, Torro."

"Sorry, guy. I didn't think she'd go _that_ far."

Torro: "You son of a bitch. You put her up to that?"

Benito let a chuckle out.

Benito: "Yeah. You're still a virgin, aren't you?"

Torro nodded.

"I'm just trying to find the right chick to lay," Torrance confirmed.

Benito: "You just might get your chance."

Torro: "I'm sure I will."

* * *

If one thought that Torrance was heating up during that moment, think again. It would get a lot worse at the dinner table. Tori had taken the seat on the left of Heartbreak, only to lose it to Kanida in a game of _jankenpo_, or rock-paper-scissors...

The five guys were having a conversation about information on the Sword of God gang. Benito didn't want to call them an army because they were nothing more than common thugs committing mass murder while hiding behind ideals. When Torrance was about to speak up, he felt his eyes widen and a hand on his lap. He looked over at Kanida, who smiled and leaned over to him.

"Wanna hear something sexy?" she asked.

Torrance didn't reply, but he knew he was going to be in trouble.

Kanida: "I'm going to jerk you off under the table. I'm going to enjoy watching you try to stifle your moans as my hand slides up and down your cock. I'm going to enjoy feeling your cock explode in my hand. And finally, I'm going to lick all your cum off. What's more important is that later on tonight: I'm going to drag you to my room, tie you down, and ride you until you're calling out my name."

Torrance gritted his teeth and whispered back to her.

"Do your worst."

Then he went on about his business at the table as he grabbed a plate with chicken breasts covered with gravy. He used his chopsticks to put a breast on his plate and was about to set the plate back in its place when he felt his pants being unzipped. Instead, he handed it over to Damon across from him as he felt the hand retrieve his throbbing member from his pants and stroking it slowly.

Benito and Damon looked over at Torrance, who was gritting his teeth. They were trying to stifle their laughter as they stuffed their faces with spaghetti.

Meanwhile, Kanida had her chopsticks in her left hand devouring spaghetti and stroking Torrance with her right. She let her thumb tease the head, making the son of Damijin Spade shudder in pleasure.

"Hmm, I guess the son has surpassed the father," Kanida whispered in Torro's ear while her hand slid up and down his shaft. "Look at how big you are, baby..."

_My mom's gonna kill me..._thought Torrance.

* * *

**ORLANDO  
****THE ROOFTOPS**

Looking through her nightvision binoculars, the Black Rose saw an Arabic street gang she knew about. She had taken a few plays from Dami's book and planted a few wires. She was listening to them talk when something hit her.

_Saifuallah. _That's what the thug she skinned said. The Arabic phrase for "Sword of God." She was sure that they were somehow connected with this gang. She pulled a cell phone from her chest pocket and dialed a number. A male voice answered.

"Yeah, Rose?"

"Ty, you speak Arabic?"

"Arabic, Swedish, Spanish, Japanese, French, German, and Russian. You got some scumbags to off?" Tyrone replied.

"Definitely. I heard the word 'Saifuallah,' which means..."

Tyrone: "Sword of God. The bastards D-Jin is after. You got taps in place?"

Rose: "Yep. You want a listen?"

Rose put the phone to the receiver she had. After about ten minutes, she resumed her conversation with Ty.

Tyrone: "Those guys, they're the money men for these punks. You take them out, you'll hurt this so-called army a bit."

Rose: "Talk to you soon, Ty."

Rose hung the phone up and placed it back in her pocket before standing up and taking a few steps backwards before breaking into a sprint. She put everything she had into a leap across the next rooftop, going into a roll once the jump was successful and standing up again, not wanting to lose momentum. Rose repeated this pattern once more, only this building was a bit far. She outstretched her hands and took hold of the ledge, the steel claws on the fingertips of the gloves Tyrone gave her penetrating brick and concrete, then flipped herself to the roof of where her targets were.

"Now for the easy shit," Rose said to no one as she peered through the open skylight, watching dirty money be laundered.

She closed her eyes as her hands gripped the shortswords on her hips and drew them, but not before pulling the pin on a frag and dropping it through. After a silent count from three to one and the explosion of the frag, the Black Rose jumped through and landed on a blood-covered steel table where money had once been counted.

Taking advantage of the confusion and the smoke provided, Rose took this time to decapitate a couple of punks with the short blades.

"Shit! It's the Black Rose!" yelled a punk, who was reaching for an Uzi.

Rose kicked a wad of hundred-dollar bills at him, making him flinch as a blade came through the flying money and took away his hands before settling in his neck. She couldn't waste any more time with the small fry. She needed to find the head of this operation before more guns came in.

Too late.

Rose found herself ducking for cover from M16 fire as two more thugs came in with 100-round drug mags attached. Rose reached inside a pouch and found her _matsuba-gata_ shuriken. Sheathing her short-sword, she placed three of the throwing blades between her fingers on each hand. On three she exploded out of cover and tossed, shuriken finding throats to claim home in.

That's when she saw _him_. He HAD to be the one, because he was running for his life.

So Rose grabbed three more _shuriken_, smirked, and hurled. The small blades lodged themselves in the guy's knees, sending him down in a shrill of pain. But before she could get to him, she had to dodge a punch coming from a near-400 pound thug. Apparently, she was going to have put this fucker away. But that's when a hammer-shaped object flew out of the shadows and hit the heavy in the forehead.

Rose looked behind her and couldn't believe her eyes.

This new player sported black robes. Covering them was a gold diamond-shaped chestplate with a gavel on it and a black-and-gold mask to match. But what got Rose was giant gavel in his hand. He looked like something out of _Judge Dredd_.

And finally, the figure spoke as he pointed a finger at the massive thug.

"You...guilty."

* * *

**A/N: Who is this new warrior and where did he come from? All questions will be answered soon.**


	10. Chapter 10

_Rose looked behind her and couldn't believe her eyes._

_This new player sported black robes. Covering them was a gold diamond-shaped chestplate with a gavel on it and a black-and-gold mask to match. But what got Rose was giant gavel in his hand. He looked like something out of _Judge Dredd.

_And finally, the figure spoke as he pointed a finger at the massive thug._

_"You...guilty."_

* * *

The thug looked over at the strangely dressed individual before picking up a 12-gauge shotgun propped up on the wall and cocked it. Before he could pull the trigger, Rose charged and drove her _tanto_ straight into his shoulder. However, the heavy had a lot of fight left in him, proven by knocking Rose back with a swing of his other fist. When he was about to throw another punch, he was stopped by more hammer-like objects nailing him in the face. Rose looked over at the mysterious judge-like figure.

"Go finish your business! This punk's mine."

Without a word, Rose went on to catch the boss who was easy to spot by the bloodstains on his white suit. Which left the heavy with the new entrant.

"Who are you?"

And again, the Judge Dredd-wannabe spoke.

_"I am jury and executioner. But most importantly, I am judge. Judgment has come."_

Before the gangster could speak, he was silenced with a shotgun blast that took his knees from under him.

"W-w-w-"

Judgment: "Are you surprised? Most people usually are."

And realization dawned on the condemned thug as Judgment pumped the gavel and a shell was ejected.

"Fully automatic, holds up to 20 twelve-gauge shells. I tend to mix and match my ammunition. What I just took out your knees with was standard buckshot. The next round..."

...was a slug and took off more than Judgment needed to. Along with the shoulder, the head went.

"Damn it! Missed again."

The gavel wasn't exactly the most accurate of shotguns, something Judgment needed to work on. He still needed to make a few adjustments. But it had done its job for the night, even if it had ended the interrogation before it could begin. Even so, he still needed to find the Black Rose.

She had information he needed in order to find the Snypa.

* * *

Rose stood across the defeated form of the gang leader, his hands pinned to the wooden wall with _shuriken_.

"We're gonna play a game of 20 questions," Rose growled, pulling her sword out. "How fast you die depends on how you answer."

The response was in Arabic.

_"You don't scare me, you bitch!"_

Rose drove the blade into the wall, mere inches from his face.

"English!" she yelled, frustrated.

"Perhaps I can help."

Rose looked up. It was the judge-like figure again, standing at a window.

Judgment: "I've been on the hunt for these guys for quite some time. Small street gangs like these support the big terrorists groups in the Middle East. And plus I speak a little bit of Arabic. So allow me."

Judgment came down, his boots absorbing the impact. He turned around at the pinned thug.

Judgment, in Arabic:_ "Nihdal...I've been looking for you for quite some time. And you have something I needed to know. Now tell me, where can I find the CEO of Saifuallah? You've surely got to know something, Nihdal."_

_"I don't know anything, and even if I did-I wouldn't tell you!"_

Judgment didn't say anything for a moment. Nihdal suddenly felt the bells of pain ring through his face for an undetermined amount of time. And Judgment spoke again, this time in English, as he rubbed his fists. It had been a long time since he actually punched someone.

"Don't play games with me, punk. I know you speak English. And I don't have the level of patience Miss Rose here has, so it would be in your best interests to tell me what I wish to know."

"F...fuck you!" Nihdal shouted, spitting on the gold mask.

Judgment sighed and pulled the gavel off of his back.

"Unless you want to end up a railroad spike..."

Then...

"Okay, okay!"

"Good boy. And spare no detail."

Nihdal: "All I can tell you is that while we give _Saifuallah_ the money they need, they're being controlled by someone else. They're being paid to cause mayhem."

Rose: "By who?"

"You might as well kill me now, 'cause you're not gonna believe me!"

Judgment: "I'll kill you if you _don't_ talk."

"The real puppet masters of the show is your government."

"No surprise. Government pulled off 9/11. Goodbye." Judgment said, raising his gavel.

"Wait! I can tell you this!"

Rose: "Go ahead."

"They're from DHS, and I remember Khosrow meeting with two of them. That's all I know, I swear!"

Judgment: "No names?"

"None were exchanged from those guys when I was there. I swear."

Rose: "Thank you."

With that, Rose turned toward Nihdal with her _katana_ in hand. The blade sliced his head and his arms clean off, leaving the rest of the corpse to drop. Then she turned to Judgment, her weapon raised.

Rose: "Who are you, seriously?"

"Honestly? I'm Judgment. And you're the Black Rose. Your lover is Damijin Spade, your son Torrance is 17, and he's already wanted by the feds."

"How the fuck do you know that?" demanded Rose.

"Because..."

And Judgment removed his mask, which looked more like a combat helmet with a gold face cover.

"I work for you."

And Rose's eyes widened, before she fainted.

* * *

**HYBRID HEADQUARTERS:**

Torrance was finishing up Kanida's promise to ride him until he screamed her name. His bonds were too strong for him to escape. He couldn't do anything as Kanida bounced up and down on his throbbing cock, panting and moaning while her dripping folds soaked his powerful rod. She bent down, her lips meeting Torro's and their tongues touching as he pushed into her aggressively.

If anything, _his _name would escape from _her_ lips. And he continued to slam into her pussy relentlessly, his grunts becoming growls of pleasure as Kanida leaned down to kiss him. Torro kissed her lips, breaking away to kiss her neck and bite down on it.

"Oh, fuck yes, Torrance!"

_Mission accomplished._ Torrance thought.

But that was the battle. He could feel Kanida, begging for that release only he could give her. He become more aggressive, his thrusts rougher. Kanida's breathing became more ragged. And he was nearing his climax as well.

"Oh, god! Torro, I'm coming!"

Kanida moaned once more as she deeply kissed Heartbreak before she reached her climax, her folds clenching the stiff member that was releasing all its built-up frustration inside of her. The _kunoichi _collapsed on top of Torrance, giving his neck soft kisses as he exhaled. He had never imagined his first time being with a member of the Hybrid.

Kanida: "So, are you going accept Benito's offer?"

Torro: "We'll see."

* * *

**And I felt like I should leave it there. What is Benito's offer and who's gone rogue in DHS? Matter of fact, who's Judgment?  
**


	11. Chapter 11

**FBI HEADQUARTERS: BREAK ROOM  
**

**LOS ANGELES**

The leader of the Sentencer Task Force, Samuel Keaton, awaited the rest of his team and some special guests. The 6'4" fed ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair before taking a sip of his coffee. And then, a redheaded woman strolled in, along with a man who appeared to be in his late 40s.

Keaton: "Diana, Q. Hey, Sullivan, did you have to put on your makeup before coming here?"

Agent Diana Sullivan sat down, pouring herself a cup of coffee as well. She was in her early 40s, but she hid her age well. U.S. Marshal Miguel Quintanez, failed to do the same. He took a seat next to his friend.

Quintanez: "Damn, Sam. So what are we doing here?"

Keaton: "We'll know when he gets here. He's been hunting this guy for a while."

And that's when a fourth person joined the three vigilante busters. His light brown eyes hidden behind sunglasses looked at them before speaking.

"Miguel, so these are your associates? It's an honor to finally meet them."

Miguel: "You can't be serious! Who the hell sent this kid?"

Roy: "My godfather did."

Quintanez: "That damn T.C., making fun of me like this..."

Roy: "You'll need me if you wish to catch my godbrother. But that leaves me to ask you a question, Mr. Keaton: why are you so interested in Torrance Spade?"

Keaton: "His father, he's with Jones. I need their whereabouts."

Roy: "You're going to catch a vigilante in the middle of a war?"

Keaton: "It's not a war, Marshal Rustle."

Roy: "But you know Jones and Spade are probably aiding the attempt to stop them."

Sullivan: "True, but we need them."

Roy: "I don't even know why I'm agreeing to this crap. Tommy and I just encountered these extremists in Florida. And the mentality they possessed, Keaton, you should know better than any of your team that these guys need killing. Don't get me wrong, I don't agree with what the Spades or your Sentencer do one bit- even though they make our job easier- but this is _not_ the time for 'right-and-wrong,' moral cop bullshit."

Keaton knew that Roy was speaking the truth, but he didn't like being made an idiot.

Keaton: "What? _What the fuck_ did you just say, Rustle?"

Roy: "You heard me. Maybe if your head wasn't up your ass, your wife killer's would be dead right now. Or do you want to play the saint on that, too?"

That was it. No one spoke of Keaton's wife like that and got away with it. The big fed marched up to Roy, nose-to-nose with him.

Keaton, eyes filled with rage: "Wanna repeat that?"

Roy shrugged his shoulders.

Roy: "Like I said, Sam, did you wanna grease the motherfuckers who killed your wife...or did you wanna play saint with them?"

And Keaton lost it. The next second, Roy was on the floor holding his chin. Keaton looked down at the young Marshal, as one of his six-inch Colt Pythons was ready to strike. He noticed Roy's smile. The fed put his weapon away.

Keaton: "Honestly, I knew that from the start. You prick, get your ass up so I can tell you something."

And Roy stood up, rubbing his chin still. He waited for Keaton to speak.

Keaton: "Have to find Jones if I wanna help him. He and Spade can't do this alone."

Sullivan and Quintanez exchanged looks.

Quintanez: "Say what? Sam, are you out of your mind?"

Sullivan: "Are you _trying_ to get our badges pulled?"

Roy: "Your team leader has a point. There is no official police procedure in a situation like we're in now. Our best bet is to locate Torrance and hope he can tell us what we need to know."

* * *

**Short, I know. Sorry, I have to leave it at this. But I guess it makes for a good cliffhanger. But why is Keaton putting his rivalry with America's Most Wanted aside?**


	12. Chapter 12

**What can I say, STONE? If I can't go with my original plan, I gotta come up with the next best thing.**

* * *

**ROY'S SUV: STREETS OF LOS ANGELES  
**

The son of the great Agent Rustle was driving, Keaton riding shotgun. Sullivan and Quintanez looked at each other while in the back.

Sullivan: "How the hell can those two be getting along, especially after Sam laid Rustle out like that?"

Quintanez: "I get it, Diane. Remember the compound in San Fran? Sam's not a cold-blooded killer, and the fact that this country is under attack by an army of terrorists...it fuckin' scares him. The fact that he has to go up against willing-to-die-for-their-shit motherfuckers like these again: Roy knows how Sammy feels, but he had to do something to snap him out of it."

Sullivan: "So, he played punching bag?"

Quintanez nodded.

Sullivan: "Why are we not driving Rustle to a hospital right now, Miguel?"

Quintanez smirked. Roy looked back at Keaton's comrades.

Roy: "If he wanted to hurt me, he would've hit me a lot harder. Kinda wish he hadn't held back. It'd make for a good fight between him and T.C."

* * *

**STREETS OF ORLANDO**

Spade and Jones had parachuted on top of an old building from their aerial transport, taking out sentries before even touching down. Jones decided to take the stairs while Spade took the scenic route. He took a running leap over the ledge, preparing his backup parachute and his Mateba Autorevolver. Red-dot aim on, the .454 Casull-chambered revolver spat at thugs posted at windows with their AKs and M16s. Jones made things easier for him, taking out tangos with headshots from dual .50 AE Desert Eagles.

As Spade lined up a shot at an unsuspecting extremist, another managed to catch him in the parachute. Spade quickly turned his attention to the thug firing wildly at him and decapitated him with a .454 as he struggled to maintain control of his parachute while dropping fast. Eventually, Spade landed in a full dumpster with a loud 'smash'. While he was trying to recover from the impact, he heard the gunshots cease. Jones must've finished up.

Then a body came flying out of a broken window, its head impacting on the concrete below. Ouch. Talk about some serious hurt.

Minutes later, Jones came walking out, a few cuts and scrapes on his face and his body armor taking a bit of damage. Spade crawled out of the dumpster, clutching his ribs.

"We should be making our exit," said Jones as he noticed Spade, hoisting him over his shoulder and running for it back to a black van that had been parked there and waiting for them for three days.

* * *

Rose opened her eyes, seeing a bald black man hovering abover her, trying to wake her up.

"I just saw the strangest thing..."

"Yeah, it's me," said Ty, who had finally revealed himself as Judgment. "Now come on, we gotta relay this to Spade."

Rose finally got up. Her and Ty made their way out of the building and to a black and gold motorcycle. Rose hopped on, locking her arms around Tyrone's waist as he started up the bike and peeled out. The weaponsmith pressed a button on the Bluetooth in his left ear. Moments later:

"Ahhh...Ty, where the fuck are you? You haven't returned any of my calls."

"You made it then, boss?" asked Ty. "Good, because we've got some shit you won't believe."

"Who's 'we?'" asked Spade.

Rose suddenly took the piece out of Ty's ear and put it in her own.

"Dami?"

"Rose?"

"You sound like you're hurt..."

"Falling fifteen feet into a dumpster can do that to you," Spade replied. "Luckily, my new partner here is driving. Say hi, Luther."

Jones grunted as he drove.

"Anyway, Ty has information he needs to pass along to you."

"Tell him to meet me at the usual," Spade replied, before disconnecting the line.


	13. Chapter 13

**Per STONE's review, I shall grant his wish.

* * *

**On the drive to the rendezvous point, Jones informed Spade about some very interesting things he found out while in the building. It had been a temporary stronghold for a _Saifuallah_ company, who had seemingly been outnumbered and outgunned by a Black Mist platoon. The Sword of God's number had been thinned out in the attack, but they had dealt some damage to the unit that was fighting to keep the country safe. In the end, _Saifuallah_ had taken refuge inside an apartment complex which had been above an old grocery store.

"I take it the guy you tossed out of the window was the one you had an exclusive interview with?" asked Spade, through grunts of pain shooting through his seemingly broken ribs.

"He had a lot to say," Jones replied. "It was such good intel that I made him repeat it about four times just to make sure he wasn't lying."

"And was he?" asked a pained Spade.

"No. Pain, when applied to the most extreme of levels makes for a good lie detector," Jones said, ice in his voice. "Anyway, the subject spilled his guts..."

"Before you could."

Jones: "...and told me something that's going to change everything. The Black Mist are working with them under the cover of hunting them. However, he told me that the Mist unit that had been chasing his own had betrayed them."

Spade: "So what's the method to this madness? The only thing I can think of is that the Sword is being wielded by someone else. Ty told me that him and Rose has some information that they need to tell me, so keep driving. We're going to one of my safehouses."

* * *

**ABANDONED GROCERY STORE, LA:**

Torrance had searched the Hybrid's criminal database (hacked and stolen from Interpol) for information on the Sword and any known associates in the States**. **He managed to find one, as most of the others had been either arrested, assassinated, or too far out of reach.

So Torrance and Benito had decided to take up a mission to interrogate a faction of the Deva, a Mexican drug cartel that smuggled cocaine and heroin into the Southern United States. But why were they helping Middle Eastern extremists?

That's what the two were there find out.

Benito had decided to play a game of rock-paper-scissors to decide who would get to go in and who was on scouting duty before they left. His rock beat Torro's scissors, which meant that Heartbreak was left outside with the M110 SASS to watch his friend's back.

The grocery store that Benito went in had went out of business, perfect for the Deva to take it over and turn it into a poison-production factory.

From 600 yards out, Torrance could see all through the M110's SNS night vision scope, even after the lights inside had went out. He watched Benito plant C4 charges all over the store as hired guns were looking around in fear, wondering what was going on.

He could hear the curses in Spanish being yelled out. And then, Torrance decided to get things started when he saw Benito's signal. Chambering a 7.62 x 51mm round, Heatbreak let loose the automatic sniper rifle as bullets cut through glass into Mexican gangsters. He could hear the dying screams in his headset as Benito decided to partake in the carnage, _katana_ drawn and slashing enemies all around him in the darkness. But to the two vigilantes and their nighttime sight enhancers, it could have been as clear as day.

_"Putos estupidos,"_ muttered Heartbreak as he stood up and discarded the rifle and running toward a ladder to slide down.

Once back on the ground, Torrance mounted a red Yamaha YZF-R6, kicking up the kickstand after starting the bike and heading for the poison factory.

* * *

Meanwhile, Benito had just taken out the last of the gunmen inside the room where the drugs were cooked and was scanning around for any survivors. He saw a couple of chemists cowering under a table. He watched one of them jump at the sound of a loud bang and smiled...

* * *

Meanwhile, Torrance had just arrived at the grocery store, a pair of Daewoo K7s in both hands. At that time, the power had been restored. Once inside, he was met with furious resistance armed with Micro Uzis and TEC-9s. Nine millimeter fire and well-placed shots put an end to them quickly as Heartbreak continued to run toward the back of the store, where he was met with two belt-fed, M60-carrying gunners.

Torrance quickly took cover behind a shelf as 7.62 fire ravaged the wood. As he prepared to fire back, he saw a frag grenade roll out between the two thugs.

Before the gangsters realized what was going on, it was too late as limbs were severed and skulls exploded outward, painting the store red with gore.

From a doorway stepped a blood-covered Benito, his signature Mossberg Maverick in one hand, and a chemist by the lab coat in the other. Torro revealed himself as he looked at the guy in Benito's grip.

"'Nito, who the hell is this?" asked Torrance.

"This is a chemist who handles the drugs. What you're going to do, Torrance Spade, since I did the work of grabbing him-and speaking of which, you lost our exchange: so what the hell are you doing insid-"

"Shut up and hand me a grenade."

Benito's eyes lit up as he picked up a nail from the ground and drove it through the chemist's kneecap, forcing a shrill shriek of pain. Then he pulled another frag from his belt loop and threw it to Torrance, who caught it.

"Okay, answer me this: what's a Mexican gang doing selling drugs to a bunch of towelhead thugs?" demanded Torrance.

"First off, Torro, watch your mouth," said Benito. "Next, you're asking the wrong questions. He's just a chemist. What you should be asking him is this..."

Benito pulled out a small dagger before letting the first inch of the blade pierce the chemist's inner thigh.

"Who's running this show and where can we find him? It's time for the ragheads on the East Coast to go home."

Torro scoffed at Benito's hypocrisy.

"I don't know! I don't know!"

Benito raised his foot, stomping into the knife and driving it deeper.

"AAAAAAH!"

"Come on, now. You _have_ to have a boss," hissed Benito.

_"Vete al diablo, gringo."_

"This guy with me here _is_ the devil, friend. Now let's try this again," said Benito, losing his patience and driving the knife in deeper.

"Carlos Alejandros! Carlos Alejandros! He comes in with a bunch of his bodyguards, pays us for the drugs, and that's all I know!"

"Torrance, does he sound believable?"

"I think he does, Benito."

"Good," said Benito as he raised up his foot once more and brought it down on the chemist's Adam's Apple.

"Now let's go," said Torrance. "And by the way, the pot just called the kettle black."

"What are you talking about?"

The two young warriors exited the building, where they were met with four pistols drawn and pointed at them.

"I take it you know who we are," said the largest of the cops in the center, armed with a Colt Python.

"Samuel Keaton," Torrance muttered. "I'm not your target."

"True, but you are _his_," Keaton replied, motioning to Roy.

And one word escaped Torro's lips.

"Rustle."


	14. Chapter 14

_The two young warriors exited the building, where they were met with four pistols drawn and pointed at them._

_"I take it you know who we are," said the largest of the cops in the center, armed with a Colt Python._

_"Samuel Keaton," Torrance muttered. "I'm not your target."_

_"True, but you are _his_," Keaton replied, motioning to Roy._

_And one word escaped Torro's lips._

_"Rustle."

* * *

_Torro and Benito's expression changed to frustration. There wasn't a Task Force formed for the Hybrid, but Benito knew about Rustle. He watched as Torro's lips curled into a sneer.

"Rustle. Shouldn't you be at a Krispy Kreme right now?" said Torrance.

Roy: "As much as I'd like to exchange spades with you, Spade, I don't have the luxury of time to do so. What I do need to have is your old man's location."

"The old man could be anywhere right now," Torro replied. "I mean, he could be behind you with his foot ready to go up your ass."

Roy scoffed and turned to Benito.

"You do know that I could make sure you never see daylight ever again, right, Forello?" Roy uttered. "I mean, your dad wasn't exactly one of the good guys."

And Benito exploded into anger, about to pounce on the Marshal but was stopped by Torrance.

"If it were my grandpa, he wouldn't shoot," Torrance whispered. "But I don't anything about the other three. They're the Sentencer Task Force."

Then Torrance turned his attention to Keaton.

"What do you want, Keaton? I don't know where Jones is, so come back another time."

The big fed stepped forward, putting his gun away.

"As much as we want to, we're not looking to put Jones away," Keaton said, his eyes boring into Torro's. "In fact, there's some stuff I want to get to him."

Sullivan: "That's why we need your help to find Jones, Spade, and your father. You vigilantes can't fight this battle yourselves."

Quintanez: "In the heat of battle, due process means jack shit to terrorists. We gotta stop this shit any way we can, and I do mean _any_ way."

Torrance and Benito looked at each other before looking back toward Keaton and Rustle.

Roy: "Don't get me wrong, Spade. When this shit is all over, I'm busting your ass. The war _will_ end, one way or another, but for now, you and your friend here need to do what needs to be done."

"All I have to say to that, Rustle," Torrance began. "Is that you're welcome to _try_. Just like you've been doing these past six months. Let's do this. 'Nito, take us home."

* * *

**ORLANDO-SPADE SAFEHOUSE  
**

Spade and Jones had driven through the woods to an old farm. The two had gotten out and entered a barn. Spade felt along the walls for a light switch and found one. He and Jones walked through the barn, where Rose was sitting on a bale of hay.

"About time you got here," she said.

"Yeah, true enough," Spade shot back. "Where's Ty?"

"Over here, boss man."

And the masked judge-like figure stepped out of the shadows, revealing the weaponsmith. Spade was trying not to laugh at Tyrone's battle gear.

"When'd you make this?" asked Spade.

"A week after you told me that I couldn't come with you," Tyrone replied. "So, I pretty much decided to experiment with some stuff."

"What's your handle?" Jones asked.

"Judgment."

"Good name," replied the Sentencer.

"I'll be blunt," Spade began. "The gold has to go. You look like some shit out a comic book."

"Maybe so, boss, but niggas don't laugh at this 12-gauge," Tyrone retorted.

"He has a good point, Dami," Rose replied. "Can we keep him?"

"This leaves me to ask a question...how the hell long have you been doing this?" Spade asked.

"Pretty much when all of this started," Tyrone replied. "I didn't tell you, but I'm a _sandan_ in judo and a _hachidan_ in Shotokan Karate. And I'm sure that I can rival, if not, _exceed_ your knife-fighting skills."

"If you say so," Spade replied. "So, anyway. Why are we here?"

"We gained some intelligence that might put this fight in our hands," Tyrone started. "Rose and I hit a money-laundering op, which is one of many financial backings of the Sword. I don't know exactly how they get their money in the States, but that's not even the surface."

"The leader of the gang, who is no longer among the world of the living," Rose added. "Made a statement that the Sword is being controlled by the government. Something about some guys from Homeland Security. And he dropped a name: Khosrow, must be an 'officer', I don't know."

"That sounds about right," interjected Jones. "Some guy told me that the Mist was working with them, but the unit that his platoon had been paired with had betrayed them."

"From our information, Ty, and yours- it sounds like Luther and I were right about the Mist," Spade said. "I knew somethin' was off about those motherfuckers."

"So, what do we do?" asked Rose.

"I know what _we're_ gonna do," asked Spade. "Jones and I are gonna find that guy we ran into in New York. See if he can lead us to the rogues in Homeland."


	15. Chapter 15

**LOS ANGELES:**

Benito didn't want to risk leading Keaton and crew back to the Hybrid base, so he told his squad to meet him at another location. Keaton and team followed the two vigilantes, who were on a motorcycle, into an alley. Torrance hit the lights on the bike as Benito dismounted, looking up at the various rooftops for his team. Then the sounds of guns cocking turned their attention toward the Sentencer Task Force and the son of Rustle.

Keaton went for his Python, but was stopped by a curved, three-foot blade pressing against the side of his neck.

"I wouldn't do that, Agent," Gabriel hissed, motioning for Keaton to take his hand off of his weapon.

Benito put a hand up.

"Stand down," he said.

And the Hybrid backed off at once, except for Kanida- who Sullivan was glaring at. Their pistols were pointed at each other's faces.

"I don't like how you're looking at me," Kanida snarled. "Maybe a .45 round will fix your face."

"Fuck you."

Torrance: "Kanida."

Keaton: "Diana."

And finally, the ninja and the fed put their weapons away.

Kanida: "You're lucky I'm not a cop killer, or you'd be out of a life. Now, why'd you call us here, Benito?"

Benito: "We're going to the East Coast. And these...Krispy Kreme-eatin' motherfuckers want to help us."

It seems Benito had gained his attitude toward law enforcement agencies from his late father. Roy's left hand balled into a fist.

Torrance: "We're not enough to shut these terrorists down, guys, whether or not you realize it. And that's why, effective immediately, I'll be joining your family."

Kanida smiled at the acceptance of her boss' offer.

Damon let out a silent "Yes!" as approval.

The reaction was positive.

Keaton: "Spade. I spoke with your grandfather on this. As much as he condemns vigilantism, he agrees that your method works in a time like this."

Roy: "Like I said, Spade, we're back on your ass when this crap is done with."

Torro: "Fine. I'll be kicking your ass again soon enough, Rustle."

* * *

**SUBURBS**

**SOMEWHERE IN SOUTH CAROLINA  
**

Captain Tracy Davidson had been lucky to escape with his life after facing down the Sentencer. Luckily, Luther Jones and the Snypa were not aware of the true nature of the Black Mist. At least, not to his knowledge.

He also hated the fact that the founder of this unit had decided he'd be commanding a bunch of condemned cons. He had spent six years in Afghanistan, leading fireteams to successful missions. Why did he have to be stuck with a bunch of savages that preyed on others? They weren't even trained killers. They were walking anarchy.

Cowards who preyed on the weak and the defenseless. Women, children. Most of them had been what he expected: a bunch of subhuman apes who were counterproductive to society. Some of this company weren't even shit-skinned, but they were just as bad as the jungle men he was forced to command.

Tracy wished for a real team of killers to command, but he felt this group of damned criminals were stone cold and heartless enough to carry out a simple task such as murder. The worst of it all was that the Black Mist was forced to work with terrorists.

The captain was a patriot, first and foremost. Why was he helping terrorists attempt to take over the country he killed in the name of?

The promise of power, that's why. But he wanted to believe that he didn't really care about that, so he began ordering his team to take out cells of the Sword whenever they encountered them...

But right now, Davidson and the Mist were disguised as "soldiers" of the Sword, blowing apart what used to be a quiet suburban neighborhood, just as Williams asked him to...


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I already know STONE's pissed at me for not coming out with this soon enough.**

The vigilantes had to rest up in order to continue the next leg of this mission. Fatigue was good for clouding judgment. And that was something that could not be afforded in battle.

Tyrone had managed to bring Spade remotes to control unmanned missiles, or Predator drones. While a guided missile was a great tool to have, he didn't want to use them in an urban setting: as he wouldn't be able to distinguish the innocents.

Luckily, towns were evacuated could be subject to this. And for the next few days, Spade had thinned out the lines of the Mist and the Sword while Jones was out gaining any intelligence he could.

By month's end, Spade's broken ribs were healed and he could go out into the field once more. But one thing kept bothering him: what was the name of that man that they had first met? Who the fuck was he?

He remembered something about a Davidson, something like that. Maybe these bastards all knew each other...

* * *

**WASHINGTON, D.C.**

**BOARD ROOM- DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY**

Todd Williams, executive of United States ICE (Immigration & Customs Enforcement) with his three cohorts, Commandant of the United States Coast Guard Admiral Vincent Petty, TSA (Transportation Security Administration) Executive Garrett Samson, and United States Secretary of Defense: former United States Marine General Elijah Roberts.

Roberts was also the Commander in Chief and creator of the Black Mist military unit.

Williams: "How are we looking?"

Petty: "Everything's on schedule. Each step of our plan has been executed to perfection, except those thwarted by Jones and Spade."

A vein could be seen popping up in Sampson's pale face as it was turning red with anger.

Samson: "I can't believe our plan is being reduced to shit by couple of chicken-and-watermelon-eating monkeys toting guns."

"There's more, Mr. Samson," said General Roberts. "From reports of our friends in Angeles, Jones and Spade are not alone."

"The Black Rose?" asked Petty.

Roberts: "No. She could be a factor, but it's worse. Interpol had a file on a group of hired assassins that's supposed to be dead. Their leader was a notorious mass murderer and a Mafia crime boss that would get his hands dirty. Killed his own father in a bid for power over the Family. Name was Forello, I think."

Williams: "Fucking Christ. Francis C. Forello? He's still alive?"

Samson: "No. The wop and his chink ex-wife are dead, killed by the Black Rose. But he did have next-of-kin, a fucking half-breed raised by his brother Oliver. A son named Benito, 21 years of age. Records show Benito Forello was raised in Japan and educated by some of Japan's best teachers and martial artists. When he and Oliver came back to the States, allegedly they had formed a team similar to his father's..."

Petty: "I've heard of them. They're ninja called the Hybrid. Each one of them specialized in one of the 18 Skills of the Shinobi, or the _Ninja Juhakkei_. There's no record of showing who knows what. But they're just as big a threat if they're involved."

Roberts: "What's worse, is that there's been an order _not_ to arrest the vigilantes."

Williams: "So now what? Do they have any affiliates?"

Petty: "Yeah...Heartbreak. And Garrett, do me a favor: save the bigotry for when you're not in here. The President might fire you."

"Yeah, whatever," Samson muttered. "This country's gone to the dogs ever since that chimp's reign all those years ago."

"Like you Casper motherfuckers were doing any better before Barack Obama came along," Roberts snapped.

* * *

Rose waiting in the shadows of an alley while Ty was biding his time from up above on a fire escape. With his metallic gavel ready, he was looking to pound justice into the Black Mist. All this time, they had fooled everyone under the guise that they were protecting this country. Well, payback's a bitch.

_Here they come..._

Ty listened to the conversation taking place as he saw one of the three officers with a "prisoner," who looked to be part of the Sword.

"So, where's the next strike...sir?" asked the Mist officer.

"The General says that all forces should be getting ready to advance on the Capital in at least two hours. Operation Fire Typhoon should be starting before then," said the "prisoner."

Ty listened to the conversation for a few more minutes before making his move. A cylinder canister dropped down between the officers and the so-called prisoner before light enveloped the alley, following the extremely loud noise that left the four men in the alleyway stunned. A five second gateway was left for Judgment as he jumped down from the fire escape, a FRAG-12 round taking off the head of a Mist officer before swinging the "gavel," sending bone straight up into the skull of the next officer and snapping multiple bones in his neck and spine.

The final officer would get to see the afterlife with half of his skull missing as the man dressed in Sword garb cowered in the corner before trying to reach for his Glock 19. He was stopped by a kick to his midsection. Ty slung his gavel back onto his shoulder as he pulled a pocket knife with a serrated edge and a wickedly hooked end at the blade.

"Let's keep it simple. What's Operation Fire Typhoon?"

"None of your business, infidel scum."

Slice. A slash straight up the face. This guy would need serious surgery to his left eye, given that he would live long enough to make it to a hospital.

"Drop the extremist act. I know you're Mist, motherfucker," Ty snapped.

Seems the weaponsmith's lack of patience came from his boss.

"I don't know, I just pass along the orders!" the man screamed.

"I got all night," Ty said. "And I don't mind spilling your guts if you're not willing to. Besides, I've never seen the insides of a man before..."

* * *

**BACK TO NEW YORK:**

Spade and Jones had decided to split up duties. Jones would take out the Sword wherever they popped up and Spade would counter the Mist. Thanks to some digging, Ty had managed to hack into the Pentagon's database which contained orders that needed to be relayed to the Mist unit. Also, in there were orders to call off the National Guard. This had to be the work of the rogue government workers. So much corruption was regular in Washington, but for it to occur now, of all times? This was _unforgivable. _Spade looked down at his weapon of choice, the Barrett M82, which doubled as a sniper and an anti-materiel rifle. He was in the prone position on the roof of a warehouse, watching Black Mist activity at the docks through the scope of the weapon. This was a gun suited to take out equipment, as opposed to being anti-personnel. When the opportunity presented itself, Spade let out a volley of sniper fire as he watched high explosive incendiary rounds go into various equipment of the Black Mist: BTRs, tanks, ammunition, and so on. The Snypa could see the many explosions go off while watching the Mist look around for signs of attack.

For the first time ever, the tide of this "war" was being turned. One more shot should do the trick. Spade pulled the trigger once more, seeing a cluster of enemies combust into a shower of blood and gore. A smirk crossed his face as he watched the flames engulf everything on the docks, Black Mist and all...

* * *

The Sentencer had just interrupted a improptu gathering of a Sword of God company, wielding only knives and a pair of silenced PLR-16s. These lightweight, long range pistols with 30-round M16 magazines gave Jones the advantage needed to kill, maim, and destroy. The only thing that was left was a man cowering against a wall. Jones thought it was a hobo, so he was about to let him go.

Until the man popped up with an M9, and popped Jones dead in the chest. Luckily, Jones had been wearing body armor but it still sent him down. When the "hobo" got up, he smiled wickedly and threw his weapon to the side. That is, until Jones got back up as well. He recognized his assailant at once.

"Remember me, Mister Sentencer?" said Captain Davidson, pulling a large knife from a sheath on his leg. "Yeah, I'm sure that you were fooled by that whole song-and-dance, just like everyone else."

Jones said nothing as he discarded his empty weapons and raised his fists, daring the Black Mist captain to advance.


	17. Chapter 17

Davidson struck first with his knife, aiming high. Jones moved to the side and aimed a kick at his solar plexus that was blocked with a raised knee. The Sentencer managed to avoid another knife slash before drawing his own blade, a 14" tanto. Now the fight was even.

"You're everything I expected, Mr. Jones," said the Black Mist captain. "Now I can kill you with no regrets."

Jones had no words for this animal, this...terrorist scum. The only thing he could do was kill this man and hope that the souls of the innocent could rest easy. And now, Davidson struck again, only to receive an elbow to the chin from the Sentencer. Was this the best that the Black Mist captain had to offer? And Luther Jones received his answer, suddenly being nailed a jumping snap kick to the temple that made the big man back up. And punches soon followed the hard kick, each one landing on the body. When Davidson came in an attack with his knife, Jones sidestepped and grabbed the man around the neck. With one massive arm, the Sentencer hoisted the Black Mist soldier into the air and onto his knee. Back first.

Something broke. It wasn't the Sentencer's knee.

The "Lone Wolf" listened to the agonizing screams of Tracy Davidson, who realized that his spine had been severed. Through his pain and loss of feeling from the waist down, he looked up into the eyes of the vigilante with an expression.

"Do it," Davidson spat. "You fuckin' monkey. Come on. Finish it."

Jones looked down at the man, no mercy in his eyes.

"What are you waiting for? Kill me, nigger!"

And Jones placed his boot onto the arm of the man, finally prepared to speak as he saw the hand loosen on the knife. Jones kicked it away.

"Who is the traitor in Homeland? I know that's who's in control of your outfit."

"Fuck you, ape. I ain't tellin' you shit!"

From his free right foot, a blade appeared out of the sole of Jones' boot...

* * *

Ty stood over the broken shape of flesh, bone, and muscle as he sheathed his gavel. Operation Fire Typhoon was an air strike that was set to be launched on Washington. But why just a simple air strike?

No, not an ordinary air strike. The air strike was going to be done with nuclear missiles. Nukes, with the power to take out Washington and half of the southern East Coast. But why Washington? What was the endgame? The Sword had claimed that the purpose of them coming over was claiming America for themselves, but why was the Mist intent on destroying Washington?

Unless...

"Rose!"

"Yeah?"

Ty: "It's a lie! D-Jin told me that the Sword are looking for conquest, but this Fire Typhoon plan that this guy just told me about is to destroy Washington with a nuclear airstrike. The Sword was just a distraction for whatever the Mist is up to."

Rose: "But aren't they supposed to be working together?"

Ty: "Yeah, but what's it gonna matter when they take out Washington? The Sword and anyone else stupid enough to get caught in the blast are gonna die anyway!"

Rose: "We gotta tell Dami and Luther."

* * *

**BOARD ROOM- DHS**

The four conspirators were now joined by the leader of the Sword.

Williams: "Sit back and watch the fall of the United States of America, Khosrow. Fire Typhoon begins in one hour, thirty minutes."

Petty: "Have the nukes been prepared?"

Khosrow: "Nukes? What are the nukes for?"

Samson: "Relax. If we annihilate the capital-"

Khosrow: "How are we supposed to be claim the country if you destroy the capital?"

Roberts: "About that, Khosrow. Daniel..."

A rather large black man, muscle from head to toe, walked into the board room and behind Khosrow. As the commander of the Sword stood up enraged, he was forced back into his seat by his neck.

Williams: "Yeah, we've decided that you've done enough. We're taking over from here."

Samson: "Hey, what about the vigilantes?"

Petty: "There's nothing they can do but watch a new America be born."

* * *

Below the feet of Luther Jones lay the piled intestines of former Black Mist captain Tracy Davidson. It took nearly an hour to break the man and get the information he needed. The person Jones was looking for was the United States Secretary of Defense. This was a lot bigger than he thought it was. But there was no way that the head of Defense could be involved in this by himself. There had to be a lot of strings that were being pulled. And Jones would would kill each puppeteer involved in this show. He pulled out a cell phone from a pocket in his trenchcoat and dialed a number. A baritone voice spoke on the other end.

"Yeah."

"Damijin?"

"Luther?"

"We're moving on Washington now, that's how we're going to end this."

"If there's anything of Washington left," Spade replied.

"What do you mean?" Jones asked.

"I just got the call from Ty and Rose," Spade stated. "There's going to be a nuclear strike in less than two or three hours, which means we gotta haul serious ass if we got any chance of stopping it."


	18. Chapter 18

**FBI Air Transport- SOMEWHERE OVER THE EAST COAST  
**

The Hybrid sat across from the Spade and Sentencer Task Forces, the god-brothers glaring a hole in one another. They had no love for each other, but on Torro's end- he wouldn't dare see anything happen to the Marshal, and vice versa.

Torrance had been pretty verbal about his disdain for the son of his godfather. When they first met as lawman and vigilante in a parking lot, he informed Roy that he wouldn't be too pleased to exhaust bullets on whoever was to kill the rookie Marshal.

From that night on, Torrance dedicated himself to besting his godbrother in physical confrontation while Roy swore to let no one else slap the cuffs on Heartbreak.

"You better get used to this, Spade," Roy sneered. "Because one of these days, we'll be flying in an federal plane together: only you'll be in handcuffs."

Torrance gave Roy the one-fingered salute, the only response necessary.

"Gotta catch me first," Torrance replied. "So far, your track record's been pretty fuckin' shitty."

"Hold that thought."

Roy pulled his cell phone out of his jacket.

"Rustle speaking... what? Are you fucking serious? An attack on Washington?"

Torrance and Benito looked at each other as their eyes widened. Roy hung up his phone and looked up at Torrance, his eyes somber.

"Nukes. Washington destroyed."

Benito grit his teeth as he stood up.

"Then what the fuck are we waiting for?" he yelled. "Let's go get the motherfuckers who were behind it, then!"

"Be patient, Forello!" Keaton hissed. "We're getting there as fast as we-"

"Shut the fuck up!" roared Ramon. _"Just shut the fuck up!"_

Everyone looked up as Ramon stood up and headed for the back of the plane. The rest of the Hybrid followed him. Torrance looked back at the federal agents, a sneer on his face.

"We don't play by your rules. This is why we do what we do," Torrance said. "Due process, my ass. Your way is inefficient, ours is quick and just. We're sick of watching people suffer while you so-called defenders of the law sit on your ass and let the bad guys escape. That's why we exist: to punish those who slip past your blinded eyes. Let's go, guys."

Ramon nodded before putting on a black mask that covered his nose and mouth before informing the others to do the same.

"We'll send you a postcard," chuckled Benito, who dove out first before being followed by the other six.

A neat skydiving formation was created. Plus, it gave everyone room for the wings that spread out from their backs. Specialized gliders.

* * *

**HOURS LATER- MARSHAL BUILDING**

Spade, Jones, Rose, and Tyrone had all gathered in the Nation's Capital. A destroyed Washington, D.C. left them stunned but the four warriors tried not to show emotion. The city reeked of death and mayhem. And now they were in the United States Marshal Building, searching for survivors. Rose knew the building best as her father worked there.

They managed to find Marshal Thomas Crawford, who had a stitched wound in his leg.

"Crawford, what happened?" asked Spade.

"Took your ass long enough to get here," Crawford replied as Spade and Jones managed to help him to his feet. "Goddamn terrorist bastards rushed in and stormed the building. It was like they knew the place and where to hit. I got into a slugfest with some maniac dressed in black fatigues from head to toe. Rocked the fuck out of me."

"The Sword's not doing it anymore, Marshal Crawford," Jones said. "We have to get to the Department of Homeland Security."

"What? Why?" asked Crawford.

"That's whose behind this!" Spade exclaimed. "The Mist! They fucked us all over, including me!"

Crawford struggled to get to his feet, clutching his wound with gritted teeth.

"That can't be right," Crawford replied. "What would they gain from this?"

"That's what we need to find out," Spade shot back. "And the best way to do so would be to get there. Now let's go!"

Jones draped the Marshal over his shoulder as the vigilantes ran out of the building and back to the van they had arrived in. No sooner did they come out of the building, did the van suddenly disappear in an explosion of fire and twisted metal.


	19. Chapter 19

Spade looked up. And saw an Apache attack helicopter hovering in the air.

And to make it worse, it was facing him and his group. He looked over at Crawford.

"Tell me you got some kind of armory in that building. Something with explosives..."

Crawford held out a card.

"Take this, it'll lead you to the armory, top floor!" he shouted.

Spade nodded as he took the key and turned to Jones.

"Let's go!" he shouted before heading back inside the Marshal Building, Jones right behind him.

Just then, the chopper opened fire on the Marshal Building just as Rose and Tyrone managed to get Crawford to safety inside. Meanwhile, Spade and Jones hustled up the stairs as 30 mil cannons pounded on brick and glass. After a fifteen minute run, Spade managed to get to a heavy iron door. He noticed a keypad and a slot for the key card. He inserted it, the lights turning green before automatically opening the door. Spade breathed a sigh of relief as he grabbed a pair of Milkor MGLs and tossed one to Jones before handing him a grenade belt. He saw a HK GMG and an M60 machine gun, nodding.

"Luther! Give me some time to get this thing set up. Take the M60 and pound on the chopper, then I'll clip the wings!" Spade ordered as Jones grabbed the Vietnam relic.

The Sentencer ran out of the armory with it, positioning himself next to a broken window out of view of the chopper's pilot. When he thought it was safe, he came out of cover and let loose on the chopper with the Hog as 7.62mm rounds battered the enemy helo.

Spade took cover in the armory as Jones continued to move down the stairs as the cannon fire began again.

Spade could hear machine gun fire, so that meant the pilot was distracted. He hurried into position, setting up the grenade launcher as quickly as possible in front of the window that had once been occupied by Jones. He caught sight of the chopper, lining up the weapon with the front of the helo before blasting with precision with 40 millimeter grenades. One by one, the grenades struck the chopper before the left wing disappeared in a cloud of fire. The attack on the chopper had also detonated the hardpoint missiles on that side.

Now the helo was dropping to the earth like a flightless bird ending its existence by jumping off of a cliff. And moments later, the familiar sound of crunching metal was heard as Spade looked down to see a flaming, twisted wreck.

"Fuckin' A," he said, walking further down the steps.

* * *

**Super short chapter, but I'll try to make up for it with the next one.**


	20. Chapter 20

**STREETS OF WASHINGTON**

The Hybrid had touched down hours ago and were checking for any signs of survivors. So far, there were none.

"_Dios mio,_" Ramon muttered. "I can smell the death through this mask. These bastards."

"Don't worry, Ramon," Benito replied. "These motherfuckers are gonna pay."

"We're gonna need firepower out the ass," said Torrance.

"Shit, we gon' at least need some info on these cats," added Damon. "We need a target to point our guns at, Torro."

"Let's hit the Marshal Building, if it's still standing," Gabe suggested. "Law enforcement computers have big enough databases to tell us what we need to know."

"Or we can tell you."

All seven members turned around, weapons at the ready. A middle-aged white man with a bandaged leg and crutches was standing in front of a recreational vehicle.

"Gramps!" Torrance said, running over to him. "What happened to you?"

"Hell," replied Thomas Crawford. "Glad I managed to find you."

"Find me?" asked Torrance.

"If it weren't for the tracker your old man had installed, you'd probably be lost to us."

Torrance looked confused, cocking an eyebrow.

"It's surgically implanted under your shoulder," a new voice said, revealing Damijin Spade as he stepped out of the RV.

Torrance instead felt the area of his shoulder blade.

"It was something your father and I agreed on when you were about six or seven," Crawford explained. "Even if he is a criminal, I can't keep a man from his child."

"But what about-"

"Your gramps talks a lot of shit, Torro," Spade said, trying not to smirk. "As he said, he can't keep a man from his child."

"If we can get back to business, that would be great," said Crawford. "Anyway, Torrance, here's an update on everything..."

Crawford handed Heartbreak a file, which he opened up. His eyes nearly widened, as he called Benito over. Benito gave the documents and pictures inside a once-over.

"Holy shit," said Benito. "Marshal Crawford, everyone has been lied to. This entire country has been lied to."

Torrance turned to his father.

"So, what's the plan, old man?" he asked.

"Simple. Seek and destroy. We send these motherfuckers straight to hell."

"An army made up of ex-convicts?" said Kanida, shaking her head. "I was always for the idea of death row inmates dying for this country, but this is insane."

"Yeah, it is fucked up," said Gabriel. "We're gonna need to plan this one carefully if we are to be successful in the mission."

"Gabe, we can't just go in guns a-blazing," added Benito. "There's rogues in Homeland, but we'll need to smoke each one out. Damon, you've got a file for Homeland Security employees, right?"

"Hell yeah, boss man. You know I got 'dat shit. I can tell you errthang from what 'dem boys ate for breakfast two months ago to who and what they voted for in the last 20, 30 years. Medical history, programs they're in charge and been part of, all of that. So relax, niggas. I got 'dis, yeah?"

And everyone's eyes landed on Damon.

"Damn, don't hate 'cause I'm white," Damon said nervously. "My bad."

"Damon, I will smack the motherfuckin' white off yo' face," said Gabe. "I 'dun toljo' ass about that word, man."

"I said my bad, dude. Anyway... Spade, you got some computers in there?"

"Yeah," Spade replied. "This is an FBI vehicle. Used to monitor undercover agents, so this should be useful. Whatever you need is in here, Damon."

Damon excited ran into the RV, the others followin' behind him. He headed straight for the computers and sat down, getting immediately to work as Benito and Torrance stood on either side of him. They watched as the technical wizard of the Hybrid pulled out a black external hard drive from under his jacket.

"What?" Damon asked Benito. "I don't leave the base without one, boss man. You never know when we need intel on the fly."

"Just do your stuff, Damon," ordered Benito.

Damon plugged in the external hard drive. A moment later, he began typing quicker than Benito or Torrance's eyes could follow. Minutes later, he placed his hands behind his head, smiling proudly. He was able to tie information about the Black Mist to DHS.

"Bam, bitch! I got it!" Damon exclaimed.

Spade rushed over to the computer with the Hybrid.

"The Black Mist Combat Unit, approved by the United States Secretary of Defense," said Damon. "The man of the hour is Elijah Roberts."

"He was a famous four-star general with the Corps," Spade added, noting the silence. "He's a Gulf War vet and oversaw operations in Afghanistan."

"A man in the President's Cabinet, huh?" asked Crawford. "Who else did you get?"

"That's the only I name got so far, guys," replied Damon. "But I'm with you. There's no way this guy is alone in this."

Torrance: "Now the only question remains is how do we get our hands on a guy with juice like that? No way he's walkin' around without serious firepower at his disposal. Secret Service, MPs, maybe he's got Company watching his back. But one thing is for sure: if we slip up, this guy's little army will tear us apart. Failure is _not_ an option. And I hate to say it, because I remember the last time I hit some gangsters on federal property: but we're gonna have to sneak into the Pentagon to get our hands on this Elijah Roberts. There's just no other way to do this, with Washington in the shape it's in."


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: I apologize, readers. I've been trying to get some motivation to keep going with this. Because I really want to. Now I got what I needed. I've felt so connected to this story from when I started it two years ago. And that's why it hurts me to tell you, the readers, that there will be a character death.  
**

* * *

**UNITED STATES PENTAGON, UNDERGROUND BUNKER**

Elijah Roberts stared at three television screens, with the men he was working with. So far, their plan had gone to perfect. No way in hell would those law-breaking pieces of shit be able to bring them down.

Roberts: "Well, step one has been completed. With Washington decimated and the President and Vice President both away in China on business, we are in control. Congress has been systematically disposed of, so we are the ones in power. Vincent?"

Vincent Petty: "Ah, the Coast Guard are no longer a concern, I've arranged for orders that our manpower be directed on Afghanistan. Todd?"

Todd Williams: "Conspiracy theorists have been dealt with accordingly. I mean, no one believes these people but their websites could be a threat. Samson, how's shit on your end?"

Garrett Samson: "Fucking well. I highly doubt there's anything those vigilantes could do, as far as I'm concerned. But just in case, we should have our forces split into two fronts to take out both groups. As for the President and Vice President, I can call in some of my contacts in the Company that are stationed in China."

Roberts: "Good idea, Samson. We'll be able to tie up loose ends and-"

Roberts was staring at the screens, which had now become plagued with static.

"What the hell?"

It couldn't be. They couldn't have found him so quickly. Unless...

Unless that fuck Khosrow had given away their position. If the vigilantes had managed to gain that much information, then the leader of the Sword was definitely crossed out. They had put two and two together.

But, even if the vigilantes were fool enough to storm the Pentagon, it'd be impossible for him to find him. But if by some chance they did, he had his own fireteam at his disposal: two outside and two inside. Four of six of the most lethal killers in existence today.

The Markov siblings. Trained by the Soviet Spetsnaz and the _Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti_(the KGB), respectively. All six were responsible for the genocide of an American black ops unit in Afghanistan during the mid-1980s. For a quarter century, the Markov clan disappeared into the shadow of history until the War on Terror.

In 2005, they were residing in Pakistan, having taken up jobs as mercenaries for the Taliban. During an intense gunfight, the Markovs were captured by American spooks serving with a Marine unit. After that, they were written off as executed, but were held in an underground prison in Washington until this day when Roberts made them an offer for freedom if they fought to build a new America.

Yes, with four of them at his side, those fools had no chance.

* * *

**FIVE HOURS AGO:**

Benito and Torrance had agreed to take the DHS Building, after Rose managed to coerce some information out of a Mexican cartel leader that had revealed the supreme commander of the Sword was personally in the United States. Benito and Spade agreed that they should wait for intel for making a move on Elijah Roberts, in which the attack would be headed by Spade and Jones. The strategy for that would be the same as Torrance's attack on the White House a year ago: the initial attack would be a drive-by, followed by seizing the Pentagon.

Benito and Torrance agreed on coming from the air after an air strike that would clear out remaining cells of the Sword of God. They smiled at each other while on the wings of a Lockheed AC-130H Spectre, both of them loading up their M4 carbines, which had M320 grenade launchers attached to them. The leader of the Hybrid stood up, running his hand over the handle of the katana on his back.

"Let's go, brother," said Benito.

"Wait a minute, B."

Heartbreak was looking through binoculars, which were patched in to the cameras of the AC-130. He could see the roof of the DHS building, where a ragtag group was forcing armored vehicles backward to another street from cover with a barrage of rocket fire.

"Shit!" Torrance cursed. "Oliver, the DZ's too hot. Hostiles are firing RPGs at unknowns. I don't know if they're Mist or Special Forces that's being attacked. I can definitely tell it's an outfit of the Sword firing on 'em."

"Oliver, we're a couple of hundred yards out and southwest of their position," suggested Benito. "They won't see us coming. We can leg it from here. Just nuke that RPG nest! Let's move out, Torro."

Torro and Benito lowered their dive goggles over their eyes, strapping on their rifles tightly before they stepped off of the wings of the gunship.

"Good luck, guys," said Oliver through their earpieces.

When they reached 2,500 feet, the pair deployed their parachutes. Just under ten minutes later, they managed to touch down near an abandoned gas station.

"Gas mask on, Torro," Benito ordered, removing his dive goggles to put on his mask. "You never know how toxic the air is after a nuke attack."

Torrance did the same before un-slinging his rifle to check his ammunition before holding it at the ready position.

"Keep your carbine ready, bro," Torrance said, a truck catching his eye. "You never know who's gonna jump out the woodwork. But let's take that truck right there."

Benito followed Torrance, deciding to take the driver's side as Torrance hopped in the passenger's seat. After a couple of seconds, Benito managed to hot-wire the engine and kick the vehicle into drive before accelerating toward the former drop zone. Torrance kept watch, having rolled down his window and placed the carbine on the frame like a tripod.

"Look up there!" Benito shouted. "Oliver's taking out the nest!"

Torrance looked up to see their transport raining down upon the RPG nest with a hail of 20 millimeter fire from a revolving six barrel cannon.

"Taka to Shogun and Heartbreak: contact has been neutralized. You have an all-clear to identify unknowns."

"Roger, Taka," Torrance replied. "Just keep watch for anything out of the ordinary."

Benito nodded, turning the truck left and then right. Upon making his second right turn, his eye caught view of a convoy of armored vehicles.

The same ones that had been under attack from the Sword of God. The two Hybrid warriors exited the truck, weapons at the ready. Benito saw that these men were dressed in Army Combat Uniforms with green berets.

"If those guys were Mist, they would've shot Benito down. They're Berets," Torrance said to Benito.

"If it's all the same to you, I need to make sure. You guys were in a pretty rough spot there."

Benito approached the platoon of Army SOCOM warriors, prepared to exchanged fire as they turned around.

"That your helo that got us out of that jam, soldier?" asked the platoon leader.

"Yeah," Torrance replied, joining Benito. "We need to get inside that building. There's a high-value target in there we need to extract."

"Target's identity is Khosrow Farcal," Benito added. "He is identified as the supreme commander of terrorist organization Sword of God, also known as _Saifuallah_."

"Then you're the vigilantes also fighting," replied the platoon leader. "My name's Ellis Grove, Captain, United States Army Special Forces. This is my platoon, we're from the 10th."

"Green Berets. What's your story?" asked Torrance. "We got intelligence that Special Forces weren't deployed for this operation."

"Well, we've been flying under the radar," Grove replied. "There's something that just ain't right 'bout those boys I heard were from the Pentagon. The thing is, our superiors got a communications relay from some unknown source to deploy and engage. We were told to ignore any orders we received from Washington and move out."

"Then your superiors were right," Benito replied. "Everyone's been lied to. Those Black Mist pricks aren't with the home team. They've got their own agenda. Innocent blood was spilled to keep them a secret and they've spilled innocent blood, along with those Sword fuckers. We can't raise the dead but we sure as shit can avenge them."

"If there's anything that's for sure, we're gonna kick some ass," Torrance added. "Let's go, Benito."

"You boys need some help?" asked Grove. "Because we don't take too kindly to traitors. Where I come from, I was taught to love my country as I love myself."

"Well, I know someone who's gonna need that love you got," Benito replied. "Right now, my crew is storming a moving base of the Mist just five miles from here. They're operating from six eighteen wheelers, which are guarded by two infantry fighting vehicles in the front and two behind them."

Torrance: "Right now, we're also working on trying to find the Sword's naval support. If they're launching birds, they gotta have boats in the Atlantic.

Grove: "Right. Good luck, men, and godspeed. Let's move out!"

When the convoy left, Benito turned to Torrance.

"Let's do this," he said.

"I'm with you on that."

And the pair checked their ammunition once last time before moving in. A jeep suddenly blocked their path and four individuals exited the vehicle, one man armed with an M240L machine gun, the lightweight and up-to-date version of the M240, equipped with an assault barrel. The man who exited the back seat was holding a Milkor MGL in one hand and a Mossberg 500 shotgun in the other. Then there was the woman who accompanied them.

In her hands rested a Colt 9mm SMG with a 32 round box magazine.

The taller man and the woman were fully outfitted in Hostage Rescue Team gear while the shorter man was outfitted in United States Marshals Special Operations Group gear. All three were armed with fragmentation grenades and sidearms. Torrance clapped his hands at the sight of the Sentencer Task Force.

"Come to play with the big boys, Agent Keaton?" Benito asked sarcastically. "Where's the other guy?"

"Yeah, where did Rustle run off to?" asked Torrance.

"He's on overwatch," Sam Keaton replied, looking quite bored. "Anyway, we ran into your father and his allies. His exact words were 'Those boys are on a possible suicide mission. Go help them eradicate that terrorist scum.' End quote."

"Frankly, I sympathize with Jones just this once," Quintanez added. "These _maricones_ need killing. Let's do this."

And the numbers for this operation increased from two to six, creating an effective fireteam.

"Spade, Forello: Sam's gonna go in with you," Sullivan stated. "Miguel and I will provide cover fire for you."

Torrance nodded at the female agent before turning to the former Marine.

"Let's go, then."

Torrance and Benito charged through the shattered glass revolving doors of the DHS building with Keaton behind them, when two men popped up from behind the lobby's desk.

"Contact front!"

Benito's hand switched triggers, pulling back on the grenade launcher as it sent a 40 millimeter cylinder of death toward the ragged "soldiers." He watched as they disappeared in an orange fireball and crimson mist.

The fight was only beginning. From three floors up, six more Swordsmen rained fire upon the warriors with various AK model assault rifles. Benito and Torrance pointed upward and delivered strafe fire from both sides as Keaton unleashed his own fury with the M240L at the group, delivering a volley of 7.62 rounds. Skulls vanished, bodies were torn open, limbs were severed, and walls were painted with the blood of the enemy. The Swordsmen continue to pour on the pressure, forcing Quintanez and Sullivan to move up just as more of the radicals were rappelling from the top of the building. The US Marshal had slung the shotgun onto his back and was now working with the Milkor, the red-dot sight taking aim between two rappellers as he fired a 40 mm frag, severing their lines and their bodies as they fell helplessly.

"Take _that_, motherfuckers!" Quintanez exclaimed, taking out two more rappellers.

The remaining two rappellers had touched down behind Quintanez, who was moving up to join Keaton and the vigilantes, one of them taking aim with a Saiga-12 combat shotgun. Sullivan noticed, dropping down to a prone position and pulling the trigger of the Colt SMG, nine millimeter AP rounds tearing off the two combatants' legs just below their knees. She got back to her feet, giving the two thugs a double tap as she rejoined her team when she saw another Swordsman pointing a tube in their direction.

"LAW! Get the fuck out of sight!" Sullivan screamed.

The Swordsman had five targets in his sights, ready to blast them to Allah's judgment. Allah's will stated that these nonbelievers had to perish in order to create a world that suited Him. The insurgent smiled, his teeth yellow enough to provoke jealousy from the sun. He watched as the fools scattered in the hopes of escaping his rocket. Then he felt nothing.

Royce "Roy" Rustle had been smart enough to be on overwatch. He chuckled, as he saw the spot between the eyes of the Swordsman implode and the back of his head explode- its contents seeping out.

A perfect shot. Dead on impact.

"Sam, you guys are lucky I'm out here," Rustle said. "If I were in there with you, we'd all be screwed."

"How are we looking, Roy?" asked Sullivan.

"As far as the upper floors are concerned, you're clear. Your best bet is to take the stairs."

"Anything about the target?" asked Keaton.

"According to the description you gave me, yes. The man of the hour is located on the sixth floor with his own entourage and looks like they're heading toward the stairs. He's heavily armored and armed with what looks to be a grenade launcher. Anyway, tell Forello that his uncle should've just nuked the goddamn building into the next millennium. He could've saved me the trouble of watching your asses."

"Can't do that, Royce, this is federal property," Keaton replied.

"Who gives a fuck at a time like this?" Rustle replied.

"Good point."

Torrance and Benito checked their ammunition, deciding to head toward an elevator.

"What are you guys doing?" asked Quintanez.

"They'd never expect us to take an elevator," Torrance replied, as he and Benito stepped in.

When the elevator door closed, Keaton and his friends decided to take the stairs in the hopes of intercepting the leader of these terrorists and putting an end to all of this.

* * *

**SIXTH FLOOR- DHS BUILDING**

Khosrow Farcal's personal guard led the path, wanting to make sure it was clear for their leader to safely escape the building. Those rogues in the American Government had decided to end their partnership.

They had sent one of their hitmen to kill off their chosen leader, but that threat had been neutralized quickly earlier in the day. Now, there were reports of gunfire coming from the lobby.

The three men heard a ding. An elevator! Why was an elevator coming up?

The Swordsmen took their positions, one of them armed with an RPK filled with a 75-round drum magazine, all of them full metal jacketed and 7.62 millimeters.

_Surprise, suckers._

The door opened. The Swordsman blasted away at the elevator with armor piercing 7.62 mm rounds, emptying the drum with fury in the name of God. Anything in that elevator was now cut to shreds.

But he needed to make sure those infidels had been blasted to Allah's mercy. With his two allies behind him, the Swordsman switched out the empty drum for a fresh one. The other two were armed with AK-103s with GP-25s underneath the barrel. They stepped inside, seeing that no one was inside.

Unless it was a-

An AK-wielding Swordsman's foot, at that moment, seem to brush past something as he walked into the elevator. He looked down in horror as a cylinder soared into the air.

A tripwire. The Swordsman had activated a tripwire attached to a Bouncing Betty, the German mine that gave the Allied soldiers some of the worst troubles experienced on the battlefield during World War II.

The mine shattered, releasing steel balls that lacerated and rendered the Swordsmen unrecognizable heaps of meat.

"Didn't think that S-mine would work, Torrance," said Benito, entering the elevator from the shaft with Heartbreak behind him.

"It was a good plan on your part," Torrance replied. "Let's just find this- hang on, we got a live one here."

"You wanna do it, or should I do it?" Benito asked. "On second thought, I'll do it."

Benito knelt down to look the crippled Swordsman, who was bleeding profusely from his eye, which had been taken out in the S-mine's blast.

"Where's Farcal? Tell me and the path to hell will be painless."

"I... tell you nothing, _kuffaar_, except that he will kill you."

Benito shook his head, before throwing a right hook that connected with the Swordsman's jaw and made him spit up blood and three of his teeth.

"I'm already dead and you... soon, you will be as well."

A bloody smile formed upon the Swordsman's face as his hand brushed across his jacket, opening it to reveal a bomb strapped to his chest just as the elevator began to creak. An armed bomb strapped to his chest that would detonate in-

Benito snapped himself to a standing position, delivering a sudden uppercut that knocked Torrance out of the elevator and onto his backside just as the cable holding up the elevator snapped and sent the elevator speeding down. The blast had effected the elevator and even penetrated to the shaft.

_"Benito!"_ Torrance screamed, just as he saw the elevator explode during its decent.

"Spade, what happened?" asked Rustle.

There was no time to mourn the loss of his friend. Torrance ignored the question, shutting off his godbrother's voice as he let out a scream of mourning and rage. Torrance picked his rifle, running to his left down a corridor just as a frag came rolling down. Torrance hoisted all 6'2", 180 pounds of himself through the glass of a conference room and rolled under the table just as the grenade went off.

He heard the automatic weapon fire before the footsteps following. Torrance grit his teeth, squeezing the trigger of the M4 as high-velocity 5.56 rounds penetrated the drywall and the men behind it. He exited the room, continuing down the hall just as two more Swordsmen let loose with RPK machine guns from behind cover. Heartbreak's finger switched triggers, firing a 40 mil frag in their direction. The grenade missed, but Torrance didn't stand there; he took cover behind an open door, reloading the single-shot grenade launcher with another frag round before exploding out of his concealment. He sent the grenade at the Swordsman to his right but took a 7.62 to the arm that took his aim off by millimeters but still managed to hit home, vaporizing the enemy into red mist and shattered bone and cartilage. A second round had managed to catch Torrance in the chest, but his Level IV body armor protected him from penetration.

The second Swordsman, fueled by his late comrade's demise, pounded on what he thought was Torrance's position with his own machine gun. The vigilante was about to reply when he heard shotgun blasts and prolonged screams. Torrance got up, discarding his empty M4 in favor of the .45 ACP Ruger P90. He saw two men and a woman with guns trained and smelt burning flesh as the screams died down. The Hispanic man in the middle was lowering his shotgun.

"Dragon's Breath?" asked Torrance.

Quintanez nodded.

"You shot him in the nuts with a fuckin' flamethrower, Q," Keaton surmised, shaking his head.

"He deserved no less," the Marshal replied.

"Where's Benito?" asked Sullivan.

Torrance shook his head.

"Let's just get this guy," he said, leading the way.


	22. Chapter 22

**PENTAGON ATTACK, BACK TO PRESENT TIME**

A new plan was formed. A two-front attack on the Pentagon was occurring. Torrance and the Hybrid were leading the air attack in a CH-53 transport chopper. 20 millimeter rounds sliced up the grounds, cutting through Mist warriors like a sword being swung from the heavens.

Spade, Jones, Rose, Ty, and the Task Forces were coming from the ground. Rose was driving one SUV while Spade and Ty mercilessly continued to pound the ground Mist forces from their windows with M60s.

Keaton drove a second vehicle, allowing Jones to fire an M134 minigun mounted on the back of the jeep.

"Take out those bastards, Jones!" Keaton screamed as Mist soldiers began to give chase in a black Humvee.

The Sentencer turned the minigun on the vehicle behind them as the two men inside were leaning out of the windows with only handguns. He shook his head, pressing his assault on the engine and body of the Humvee, which was not protected by armor. He continued with his offense as 7.62 mm rounds crashed through the windows and ripped the Mist insurgents to pieces, causing the vehicle to flip onto its side and skid to a stop before exploding.

The third vehicle for this assault was a small bullet-resistant bus that Ty had managed to score from a contact in the Department of Defense. Sullivan was driving this one, while Crawford was trying to get two pursuing vehicles off of them. The AA-12 in his hands belched high explosive shells that shattered the windows and occupants of one SUV as Rustle took aim with a double-barreled DP-64 at a pickup truck.

"Diana, get this thing moving!" Royce yelled. "I need some distance!"

Just as Sullivan slammed her foot on the accelerator, a black vehicle resembling a mini-tank came speeding toward the truck behind them. The two Mist soldiers in the cab turned their assault rifle fire on the incoming vehicle.

"Yeah, baby! Q's in the house!" exclaimed Quintanez from his radio.

Rustle and Crawford looked on as the AFV's cannon lowered until it matched up with the truck and spat 50 .caliber rounds, vaporizing the two thugs and crumpling the truck into scrap metal just as it disappeared under the AFV's wheels.

"I've always wondered would it be like to drive one of those monster trucks, but this is better!" Quintanez exclaimed.

"Remember, Q, we gotta give Spade and others time to get inside," Crawford reprimanded. "Then we move on to the coast. One of the HVTs are at sea with the Sword."

"TC, I'll assume that Spade can get the info on the other two guys?" asked Rustle.

"Like no one can, Royce." the senior Marshal replied.

* * *

When the enemy on the ground was cleared out, Torrance and the Hybrid rappelled out of the chopper and to the the roof of the Pentagon, detaching their gear. Tori was first to take position, setting up charges. The former Army pyrotechnician placed C4 in special places before ordering her teammates to clear out, doing so herself as she detonated the charges, blowing a large hole into the roof.

"Let's move," Torrance ordered, jumping through the hole.

The three _shinobi_ and two _kunoichi_ followed suit, weapons at the ready and prepared for any threat. These six warriors were bent on avenging the dead.

The innocent lives taken by this massacre; those souls would have a chance to rest easily when this nightmare of a campaign was over.

But most importantly, especially to Torro, the group Benito had left behind needed to ensure that their leader's sacrifice wasn't for naught. They had to see this battle through. Which was why this Elijah Roberts and anyone working with or for him were to be obliterated.

The sextet turned upon the reverberating booms of multiple explosions, noticing two holes in the wall. Coming out of them were two figures clad in black fatigues, both of them wearing black dusters. The pair came toward the sextet.

"You didn't think Luther and I were going to miss this, did you, son?" asked Damijin Spade. "Don't worry about the others. They're hitting the other targets now."

"The information you got out of Farcal was well-detailed and useful," Jones added.

Before they group could exchanged any more words, running footsteps resounded, coming through the holes Spade and Jones had just made. The vigilantes turned on their heels and dropped to their stomachs, delivering shredder rounds from their respective USAS-12 full auto shotguns that dismembered a cluster of the enemy.

An eight-man group of the Mist commandos decided to get brave and take the fight to the band of eight. One of them was armed with twin Beretta 92s, and was firing wildly.

The "military training" he received obviously didn't get through to him. Jones had a new round prepped inside the shotgun. Every fifth round would give the Mist a little taste of what they'd receive in the afterlife.

The Sentencer got to his knees and squeezed his automatic shotgun's trigger, a monstrous fireball descending from the darkness of the barrel and engulfing the shooter in its wrath. He could hear the man's screams as he ran back toward his own team, one of which turned his shotgun on the burning man. This momentary distraction was all that father Damijin and son Torrance needed as their respective shotgun and carbine ripped though enemy tissue and bone, painting the general area red with Mist blood.

More small fry taken care of.

But this wasn't getting them anywhere. How the fuck would they get to fuckin' G-Ring?

At that moment, Torro's eyes lit up as he looked at his father, then to Luther. No words were exchanged between the trio, just a look that expressed pure understanding. Tori and Kanida, sensing the understanding amongst their new leader and his cohorts, stepped forward. She was about to reach into her bag for another batch of explosives when she snapped straight up from the sound of a crash.


	23. Chapter 23

Ellis Grove of the United States Army Special Forces and his platoon from the 10th Special Forces Group were being flown toward the location of the six eighteen wheelers the Black Mist were spotted at. They had run into Torrance Spade and Benito Forello, whose air support pulled them out of a jam that saw their ground vehicle support annihilated in an ambush. Ellis didn't really have a taste for vigilantes, yet he sometimes agreed with their methods. He still wasn't sure where the transmission telling his unit to deploy and engage came from, but he had a feeling Damijin Spade was playing a role in this. He smiled when he was given an order that would see him tried and dishonorably discharged if discovered that he relayed it to his men: no quarter.

That's the way the Fort Worth native and former Texas Ranger wanted it; no mercy for murderous bastards who set foot in his country and killed innocents indiscriminately. The 10th would bring down the wrath of the Almighty himself upon both the Sword and the Mist. He stood up, inserting a full magazine into his M16 rifle, then turned to his remaining men, which totaled thirty.

"Berets, we're about to stomp out some traitorous fucks. We have but one objective: we take no prisoners. We show no mercy. They started a massacre, so we're gonna exterminate. Eye for an eye, gentlemen. We stop this abomination here, or we meet at the golden gates trying."  
The Berets shouted their agreement, standing up and preparing to exit the Chinook as it was preparing to descend when they were thrown against the side of the transport chopper.

"We're hit! We're hit!"

Down on the ground, an anti-aircraft vehicle was unleashing 25 mm fire on the chopper, managing to the penetrate the exterior of the chopper in the sky. The Mist's semis were already hauling ass out of the line of fire, leaving the AAV to take on the chopper. The back half of the Bradley opened up, revealing a rocket launch system that activated itself, firing six rockets at the Chinook.

The platoon from the 10th Special Forces Group never had a chance.

As the Bradley turned to regroup with the semi-trailers that was the base of operations, it disappeared in orange flames and thick dark smoke as a black aircraft flew over. The second rear support vehicle took action, firing its 20 mil cannon to no avail as the fighter moved to its left and fired its own chain gun that crippled the cannon before tearing the vehicle in two.

"Shit, we got a Reaper on our ass!" yelled Immigration & Customs Enforcement Agency Director Todd Williams from one of the big rigs up front. "Lieutenant, blow that fucking thing out of the sky!"

"Yes, sir!" shouted Lieutenant Gary Davies.

The backs of two of the semis opened up. Two-man Black Mist cells armed with mounted rocket launchers tried to get a bead on the unmanned fighter. The one on the left fired, its rocket destroying the wing of the pursuing Reaper.

"Hell, yeah!" shouted Daives.

Gary Daives had been sentenced to death row for the grisly cannibalistic murders of three families, children included. His taste for human flesh had started when he served in the War in Iraq, having survived a knife fight with two soldiers of Saddam's Republican Guard. Insane with fury and survival instincts, the disgraced Marine had bit viciously into one the dead soldiers' necks.

But he hadn't stopped there; he had eaten away the man's face. It took three of his fellow Marines to pull Davies off and restrain him. But that was only the beginning.

Until a man claiming to be from the Department of Defense paid him a visit and offered him a second chance at serving his country. In the beginning, Davies had thought it was bullshit until the man promised him a full pardon and total immunity. That managed to hook him.

It was Daives' turn to take aim at the damaged Reaper. He fired the rocket, managing to score a hit that downed the unmanned aerial assault vehicle for good.

"Yes!"

While Daives was celebrating the fallen Reaper, he never saw the second or the third Reapers that came from the side and had taken out the remaining AAVs as well as the semis in the middle with Hellfire missiles.

"Fuck me."

Those were the death row inmate's last words as the rear two eighteen wheelers went up in a cloud of orange flames and black smoke.

The ICE director watched on in fear as the semi he was in broke formation on his orders and sought to escape the pursuing aircraft, only to find a transport helicopter blocking the road.

"Somebody shoot that son of a bitch down!" roared Williams, practically feeling his neatly cropped blond hair on the verge of turning white.

"Sir, our attack vehicles have been disabled and we won't be able to get into position to use the mounted launchers!"

Before Williams could reply, an amplified voice spoke.

"I'm sure one of you Black Mist pricks in charge of this shit are on board, so I'll make myself clear and brief: my name is Oliver Forello, your Sword of God buddies killed my nephew, and I'm gonna kill each and every one of you."

The Hybrid pilot flipped a switch and activated it, opening the ramp of the transport chopper. On the ramp was a bald cocoa-skinned man wearing black fatigues, a black leather duster, and combat cosmetics. Tyrone Wells- Judgment, Spade's weapons supplier, was manning the GAU-21.

"There ain't a place in hell good enough for you motherfuckers," Judgment sneered. "But I hope you enjoy what's in store for you."

And the weaponsmith unleashed a hailstorm of belt-fed .50 caliber rounds upon the two semis, shattering windshield glass and cutting the vehicles into scrap metal. Feeling satisfied, Ty stepped off of the chopper and pulled out his sidearm, a Beretta M9, before turning off the pistol's safety. He saw a man in black fatigues wearing a matching colored flak jacket crawling from the bullet-riddled wreckage and covered in blood. He kicked the man over onto his back as he crawled out, recognizing his face right away despite the blood.

"Todd Williams. I been waitin' for that ass to show itself," Judgement growled, pointing the M9 at the ICE director. "Fuck a long-winded speech about you bein' a piece of shit, I'll just do this and be done with it."

The weaponsmith pulled the trigger, hitting the conspirator in both kneecaps. Williams screamed in devastating agony as Ty fired again, disabling both the man's elbows before mercifully ending him with a headshot.

"That's a lot better than what your ass deserve, but time ain't on my side."

Ty ran back to the chopper, getting inside as Oliver closed the ramp. There was one more attack and the Hybrid's pilot needed to be ready to lend support.

Finish the battle, mourn the soldiers afterward.

Back at the Pentagon, the Hybrid, Spade, and Jones were looking up at a totaled bulldozer that had ran through layers of steel and concrete. It looked like they had found an answer as to how they were going to get deeper into the Pentagon and to the Secretary of Defense. Damon went over to the vehicle, noticing there were wires and modifications.

"Judging from the wiring around this thing, it was piloted by remote control," the tech wiz of the Hybrid surmised, looking impressed. "Why ain't I thinkadat? Would've saved us the trouble; I woulda had an airplane in this-"

Damon realized his joke had lost its humor factor.

"Oh, shit. My bad."

"Gives us a chance to advance," Torrance replied.

At that point, the group was pinned down with heavy rounds bombarding them. The Hybrid, Spade, and Jones each sprinted to cover, weapons at the ready.

"When I'm finished with you motherfuckers, those towel-top bitches are next!" roared a deep voice.

Immediately, the Sentencer turned to Spade and his son's allies.

"Damijin, do as much as you can to draw his fire," offered Jones, who was replacing his empty shotgun with his twin .50 Action Express Desert Eagles. "I'll take the shot."

"All yours, Luther," Spade replied, retrieving the dual Ingram MAC-11s. "On three."

Each MAC's box magazine filled with thirty-two .380 party favors.

"Three!" both men shouted as Spade burst out of cover and let loose with the twin sub pistols.

The attacker, who happened to be Daniel Markov, was operating an AK-107 with 7.62mm AP rounds. Such a weapon had once been the calling card of the Snypa during the start of his campaign. Markov hid himself behind a wall as Spade returned fire with the subguns, only to burst back out again with another stream of 7.62 rounds until he heard the familiar click. The ex-Spetsnaz soldier ducked back, discarding the empty box magazine in the AK and replacing it with a fresh one before popping out to attack, only to find two red dots; both shining brightly on the center of his forehead. He followed the trail of the red laser lights to Luther Jones, who firmly held the two hand cannons with hammers pulled back.

With no emotion in his eyes, Jones pulled the triggers and beheaded the freelance mercenary with two powerful .50 caliber rounds.

Spade and the Hybrid regrouped with the Sentencer.

"Probably should've interrogated him first, Mr. Jones," said Torrance.

"No time," replied Luther, as the group started to advance again.

AT SEA, IN THE AIR

The Sentencer Task Force and Rustle were flying with Oliver and Ty, who had managed to pick them up over an hour after the attack on the Pentagon. Keaton sat stone-faced, looking at the ground with his teeth grit. The ex-Marine had never expected to be dragged back into the harsh reality of combat long after his service with the Corps was done. Rustle took a seat next to the hulking fed, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"What's on your mind, Sam?" asked the Marshal, setting the sniper rifle in his hands down.

The agent looked over at him, his facial features softening a bit.

"I don't really know what to say, Royce, to be honest with you," Keaton replied. "I'm just wondering what's gonna happen when all this is over. With this shit going on, I'm wonderin' if I made the right decision all those years ago to dedicate myself to nabbing Jones. Lord only knows he's what we need right now."

Keaton sighed before he spoke again.

"I'm wondering if I should've let him go that night we used Meldrick Mahoney to bust him. Had the son of a bitch in the back of my car with no one else around and I could've just sprang him. Sometimes I think I should've let him pass that night we met in Detroit."

This time, it was Crawford, crutches and all- who decided to take a seat next to Keaton.

"Sam, I feel the same way about Spade," Crawford said. "You're like me. I wanted to go after the Numbers the hard way for what they did to Will. I wanted to drag Raphiel Borealo somewhere secluded and just torture him in so many ways and when the bastard couldn't stand it anymore, I would've just plugged him. If Rose hadn't gotten there first, I would've done him."

"You ever feel like just blowing away every piece of shit that walks the streets, Tom?" Keaton asked the U.S. Marshal. "Every murderer, rapist, and pedophile?"

"Lord knows I can't count how many bastards I've hauled in that would be better off rotting in some fucking shallow grave," Crawford replied. "I can imagine how many tax dollars would be saved if we just did every dangerous criminal we came across but I realize something every time I start thinking like that: I'm a cop for a reason. I swore an oath to serve and protect according the law of the land, not by any means necessary. I _could_ do every motherfucker that walked free even though they were guilty as sin, but I _don't_."

This time, it was Sullivan who spoke.

"Seeing terrorists and traitors killing innocent people by the hundreds and thousands makes you want just throw the book out the window and give these fucks what they deserve, but it wouldn't be right."

"Then again, I can see the logic in vigilantism," Quintanez added. "You kill a killer, they can't murder anyone else. Dope pushers can't poison kids if they're six feet deep."

"And rapists can't rape anyone else if you shoot 'em in the nuts, right Miguel?" Keaton retorted, a smile appearing on his face.

"Fuck you, Sam. I told you I'm a terrible shot."

"Look alive, guys!" Oliver ordered. "We're almost at the drop point."

The lawmen snapped to attention, putting on their helmets just as Oliver could see an aircraft carrier moving in the water.

"It's a supercarrier, so let's be caref- wait, someone's attacking!"


End file.
